


Rewrite the Stars

by kingburu



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance, pining!Nico
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24669922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingburu/pseuds/kingburu
Summary: A boy descends from the heavens, skin kissed by the sun, and hair as gold as the many medals that adorn his chestplate. His purple cloak billows over his shoulders like a Roman emperor, face as stern as any somber military leader, and his eyes are an electrifying blue that makes Nico think of Thalia.Instead of the fear and alarm shown by many campers, this boy scans the armor-cladded skeletons Nico summoned and the anxious diamond at Hazel’s feet. There’s a scar on this boy’s mouth that’s enhanced by his scowl—and suddenly, the harsh demeanor fades. The electrifying hue of his eyes disappear—matching the color of the morning sky instead. He glances at the skeletons once more, then looks at Hazel and Nico, impressed.“Whoa,” he says.Nico hates how his heart skips a beat.---The month before Praetor Grace disappeared from Camp Jupiter was the happiest month of Nico's life.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Hazel Levesque/Frank Zhang, Nico di Angelo/Jason Grace
Comments: 46
Kudos: 288





	1. Victory Over Death

With each step out of the Underworld, Hazel’s hand feels warmer against Nico’s palm. He hears a light tapping in the back of his ears until it crescendos into a heavy rhythm and—as the sunlight meets his shadows—Hazel’s heartbeat is loud and thriving. Nico peers behind him, the pale flesh of his hand never leaving her grip. What was once an eerie glow is now human flesh, and the tears in Hazel’s gold irises reflect the sky of the living plane.

Hazel presses her free hand to her mouth as she stares at the sky for the first time in a century. It’s something Nico took for granted when Bianca and he were pulled out of the Lotus Casino. They never questioned where Alecto led them, and Nico knew he was safe and happy so long as Bianca was with him.

( _Before she left_ , the back of his mind hisses. _Before she joined the Huntresses. Before she died. Beforeshechose—_ )

“Thank you,” Hazel says. Her voice isn’t a haunting whisper like most ghosts. Instead, it’s full of life and fills Nico’s heart.

He swallows the lump in his throat, every thought of Bianca withering away. Instead, Hazel Levesque’s voice is a gold beacon that shirks the shadows away in his chest. Nico realizes Hazel still hasn’t let go of him. In the sea of beeping cars and shiny buildings that would distract every other ADHD demigod, Hazel still sees _him._

“Don’t thank me yet,” Nico says when he finds his voice. He turns away from the Los Angeles traffic—the _loud noises_ , the screeching, the unending abundance of palm trees—and channels north. “This is only the beginning for you.”

*

There’s shouting when they erect from the dark shadows of the Caldecott Tunnel. Nico hears a gasp behind him—two teenaged guards at the edge of Camp Jupiter—and the clear sound of swords unsheathing. All of Nico’s senses tingle—the same ones that burned when Hades first told him about roman demigods.

“Get behind me,” Nico orders, his grip still tight around Hazel’s hand. The first demigod lunges at Nico with a gold sword—different from what he’s seen at Camp Halfblood. Different from Percy—but familiar, from the ghosts of old Roman soldiers he could summon at will.

When he disarms the first guard, the second hiccups in her movements—stunned that Nico’s attack patterns could be anything but Roman. Nico opens his mouth to speak, to yell they only mean peace—but true to the many things in his life, it doesn’t go as planned.

The second guard yells, “ _INTRUDER!”_ and Nico starts running, dragging Hazel behind him. _Away_ from the exit.

Of course, the sentries begin to attack, firing a storm of arrows from above. Nico keeps his grip firm over his sister. The San Francisco sun is gold and bright over the horizon, the lush hills green and plump—and more than three dozen demigods want to kill him—either by arrow or by blade.

Instinct sets in before Nico can help himself. The earth rumbles beneath him, and Roman soldiers suddenly pop up from the ground, taking a wave of arrows like a shield. The two Romans behind Nico suddenly gasp again from the sight, and Hazel’s grip over Nico’s wrist is so tight that his fingers are numb. Her pulse is racing. She’s scared—but not scared of him.

“Um, Nico?” Hazel says fearfully. She points to the ground, where a glimmering diamond appears at her feet. There’s panic in her voice. She’s scared of _herself._ Hazel gasps for air, and Nico thinks he sees another one showing up.

“It’s okay—” Nico whirls back. “It’s just a misunderstanding—”

“ _Very_ misunderstood,” Hazel agrees, and her voice suddenly sounds thin. “I—”

She’s trembling, and every bit of Nico suddenly screams with guilt and regret from the anxiety in her eyes. Nico’s heart aches in his chest—they’d gone from staring at the sunrise to _death_ so quickly that it’s laughable. Her grip is still tight over his arm, but Nico wonders if she thinks this was a mistake. If coming with _him_ was a _mistake._

And then he hears it—the sharp Latin as it cuts through the tension like a wind current. “ _Gladium reconde!”_

The order is loud and booming, spreading over the three dozen demigods that want to kill Nico, like a vast storm. Swords are sheathed behind them. Arrows stop raining down from above. Overhead, Nico hears the sharp caw of eagles and sees the birds spiraling over them, ready to feast.

A boy descends from the heavens, skin kissed by the sun, and hair as gold as the many medals that adorn his chestplate. His purple cloak billows over his shoulders like a Roman emperor, face as stern as any somber military leader, and his eyes are an electrifying blue that makes Nico think of Thalia.

Instead of the fear and alarm shown by many campers, this boy scans the armor-cladded skeletons Nico summoned and the anxious diamond at Hazel’s feet. There’s a scar on this boy’s mouth that’s enhanced by his scowl—and suddenly, the harsh demeanor fades. The electrifying hue of his eyes disappear—matching the color of the morning sky instead. He glances at the skeletons once more, then looks at Hazel and Nico, impressed.

“Whoa,” he says.

Nico hates how his heart skips a beat.

*

Soldiers fall in line as the blond boy leads them into camp. To his face, they salute—but Nico sees the steely gaze they give his sister and him when their ranking officer isn’t looking. The blond demigod—with a cape bellowing behind him like a member of royalty—promised their safety.

“This is a misunderstanding,” he’d said, echoing Nico’s earlier sentiment. He looked to the two Roman soldiers that guarded the Caldecott Tunnel. “No one fire on them. We’ll get this sorted out at the _principia._ ”

The Latin on his tongue is as natural as Italian and Ancient Greek are on Nico’s. It makes his skin prickle.

Neither Roman soldiers hesitate, instead saluting their commanding officer. “Yessir, Praetor Grace!”

Grace. Like Thalia Grace. Nico forces himself to keep from fiddling with his skull ring. They looked nothing alike but for those startling blue eyes.

Praetor Grace holds himself tall, as though he’d reach the sky by posture alone. The eagle tattoo is as intimidating as the very birds that fly overhead. Nico sees the array of tick marks branded on this demigod’s arms, soaks in the military rank, and feels ill at ease.

The cloak flutters behind Praetor Grace, while Nico wears the trench coat he’d brought to the Underworld. It’s a gentle reminder of how far the Heavens are from the Underworld.

Praetor Grace peers over his shoulder as they make it to a marble building, his eyes every bit a rich blue as Percy’s are _green_ , and smiles. “What do you think?”

He gestures to the lush greenery and the many whitewashed buildings around them with red rooftops. They’d passed a marketplace before reaching what Praetor Grace called the _principia_ , where mortals young and old lingered. Nico had many lares wandering around— who didn’t bother to raise an eyebrow at them. Up north, closer to the tunnel, Nico sees the outskirts of a city that rivaled Los Angeles.

“Hazel,” Nico says, pressing a hand to his sister’s back, “what do you think?”

Hazel’s eyebrows contort together as she takes in the scenery. From what she’s told him, Nico knows she’s seen stranger things. Her _powers_ were strange. “It’s very…organized.”

“Organized,” Nico echoes, and he agrees with the sentiment.

“Organized,” Praetor Grace muses. The intrigue is evident in his voice, as though this camp could be anything but. “Follow me in.”

It’s different from Camp Halfblood. The oldest camper Nico knows is eighteen. Cabins are painted in decorative colors, and they celebrate the end of summer with camp beads. This year’s camp bead burns a hole in Nico’s pocket—the one he’d taken from Percy for all the wrong reasons, his fingers tingling at their light contact—before he watched Percy circle back to Annabeth with a shy kiss beside the campfire. Nico had left soon after that.

The purple banners are sharp and pristine as they drape the walls, with _Camp Jupiter_ etched in gold letters. It takes a moment for Nico to translate the Latin—but it’s close enough to Italian that he has an easier time doing it than another Greek demigod would. _Twelfth Legion Fulminata._ Armed with lightning. Nico snorts.

_Praetor_ isn’t a military ranking for this son of Jupiter. It’s a birthright.

“Jason—what—?”

“Reyna.” Praetor Grace opens an office door in the principia, to a cherry wood oval desk and sleekly carpeted floors. It’s a stark difference from Chiron and the Big House. Far more formal.

A girl sits on the other side of the desk, glossy black hair braided to the side. The same purple cloak drapes over her shoulders—over the SPQR t-shirt and the pair of jeans that she wears. Her gaze is hard as it looks at them. Reyna stares at them suspiciously. “I heard there were intruders.”

“Not intruders,” Jason Grace reassures. He doesn’t make a move to the second chair behind the desk. He stands tall beside Nico, his forearms crossed over his armor with no hint of ill-will. Then he looks back to Nico, his eyes piercingly bright, and arches one gold eyebrow in the air. “Though you made it _past_ the guards. So in a way, you did intrude.”

“No one died,” Nico offers.

“You attacked one of our soldiers.” Reyna narrows her gaze but doesn’t move from her seat.

“I disarmed him,” Nico corrects. “After he attacked first.”

Her stern gaze doesn’t change. It takes a moment, but Nico realizes that even at the notion of praetor being a _birthright_ , this Jason Grace is looking to Reyna for guidance. Jason looks more like a knight answering to a queen than he does a king. Reyna studies the both of them, her expression wavering only slightly. “Who trained you?”

“The Underworld,” Nico replies breezily. He doesn’t let out a breath of relief. Instead, he gestures over to Hazel, his expression still riddled with concern. “My name is Nico di Angelo and this is my sister, Hazel Levesque. I’m an Ambassador to my father. Pluto.”

Reyna doesn’t relax at that explanation. If anything, her expression darkens, and Nico stifles the bitter voice in the back of his head that tells him this was yet another place that he didn’t belong. Death is a bad omen to all, including the Romans.

But it doesn’t matter if he didn’t belong—all that matters is Hazel’s second chance at life. _She_ needs to belong.

So he goes off the script that Hazel and he rehearsed—she was a demigod from New Orleans that he found, and he guided her to New Rome for a new life. He only stalls when he hears the metal creaking of two gold and silver automaton greyhounds on either side of Reyna.

“Aurum and Argentum,” Reyna explains when she notices him staring too long. She tilts her head, expression poised in a way that reminds Nico of Annabeth. “They sniff out lies.”

“Do they now?” Nico keeps his voice even but replays his explanation in his head.

“You’d be dead by now if you were lying.” After seeing Nico’s powers firsthand, Praetor Grace doesn’t seem as wary as his co-praetor. Jason takes in all of Nico’s explanation without blinking and there’s no hostility in that gaze. Nico knows he’s being watched. Studied.

_Grace_ , Nico keeps thinking. _Grace._ Son of Jupiter, _Thalia Grace’s brother._ It burns a hole in his mind, and he stuffs his hands in his trench coat.

“Care to tell anymore?” Reyna doesn’t bat an eye.

“I’m afraid there’s only so much I can say on behalf of my father,” Nico admits. From the corner of his eyes, he watches as the beady eyes of the automatons stare back at him, but neither metal dog budge. “All I can hope is that you take my explanation and offer shelter to my sister.”

“Not you?” Jason sounds surprised.

A sad smile curls across Nico’s face. He feels the camp bead he refused to wear at the tip of his fingers. “I don’t belong here.”

The words come out more scathingly than he intends. He watches as Reyna and Jason instinctively share a look—and the way it mimics Annabeth and Percy makes his heart ache more. Nico feels Hazel’s gaze on him, concerned.

Then, Reyna’s gaze tears away from Nico onto Hazel, inspecting her from head to toe. “Can your sister speak for herself?”

Hazel doesn’t squeak. The anxiety from earlier is gone, and she nods. “I can.”

“I’ll be honest. Having a child of Pluto appear is considered a bad omen. Let alone two—” Reyna’s gaze flitters back to Nico, as though she’s still trying to consider his worth. “—but Jason and I judge based on merits. A child of Pluto is still a child of Rome. Earn your stay here.”

A sigh of relief escapes Hazel’s lips. Nico doesn’t realize one leaves his mouth as well until his shoulders slacken. They share a smile.

“First you have to prove your worth.” Jason shakes his head, dismissing the feeling of respite as quickly as it appeared. He inspects both of them carefully, and Nico doesn’t miss the way Jason’s eyes linger on him a moment too long. “Lupa will decide.”

*

Despite Reyna’s warning, Jason volunteers to guide them to Lupa.

She shakes her head in dismay. “Normally the wolves would guide them.”

“I’d say having two children of Pluto show up at camp barely constitutes as _normal._ ” Jason gestures to them like a pair of stray dogs. “Lupa won’t mind if it’s me.”

_Won’t mind_ , he says. Nico thinks back to how quickly the Romans sheathed their swords and reeled their bows back. It makes sense for an army to fall in line for their Roman leader, but Nico saw the stars in the eyes of every civilian around Camp Jupiter. They took one look at this boy and tout him as the Golden Son.

It's a stark difference from the looks that Nico’s used to getting. The ones that made him so uncomfortable at Camp Halfblood that he felt suffocated by scrutiny until he left.

After that, Nico finds himself following Jason Grace from behind once more, the purple cloak billowing behind the son of Jupiter nobly. He makes constant glances in Hazel’s direction, if only to make sure she’s handling everything well. Her eyes are hard—ready to prove her worth as both praetors announced.

They come to a halt at the Caldecott Tunnel, where both soldiers part for their beloved son of Jupiter. Jason Grace turns his head once more, his form elevated by concrete. He stares at Nico with fascination. There’s no mistrust in those eyes. Yet.

“So you made it past the sentries,” Jason observes. Both soldiers make a noise, offended—but they stand erect again when they notice their praetor glance over. “How?”

“Would you like me to show you?” Nico smiles grimly. He’s noticed Jason’s gaze on him since their first interaction—the way he stood, the way he spoke. Jason’s scrutiny is painfully obvious compared to Percy’s—who, despite the awkward olive branch of Cabin Thirteen, barely wants to look at Nico. Nico doesn’t like it.

Jason stares at both of them thoughtfully. The corner of his lip etches into a smile, and Nico’s ears glow pink as he realizes Praetor Grace is sizing him up. “Yeah, okay.”

Nico briefly inspects the dim lighting of the tunnel and extends a hand.

Jason stares at it in confusion but takes notice of how Hazel quickly flocks to Nico’s other arm. Then, he reaches out, engulfing Nico’s palm with his own—and Nico can’t tell if his own body feels warm, or if it’s the burning touch of Jason Grace’s fingers.

“Where to?” Nico asks.

“Sonoma Valley,” Jason replies. “How—?”

The tunnel lights flicker as their shadows become tendrils. On the second trial with shadowtravel, Hazel doesn’t gasp out of fear. She holds onto Nico’s arm, the touch warm compared to the burning grip of Jason Grace’s hand. The California sun disappears, and they burrow into darkness.

*

Traveling through darkness prickles at Nico’s skin. It’s a constant reminder of the many mysteries that lurk around him. The longer he walks in darkness, Nico finds himself warier of the things that await him in the light. He thinks to himself as he watches Jason’s reaction from the corner of his eye: even in the shadows, the son of Jupiter glows. Another stark difference between them. What a joke.

They appear in Sonoma Valley in no time. Nico staggers for a brief moment, leaning into Hazel for strength, but tries not to let it show. Lush greenery surrounds them as it did in New Rome—but Nico feels the ancient roots associated with this place. He can _feel_ the many souls that died before Lupa, failing to show their worth.

It's much more terrifying than the borders of Camp Halfblood.

“You okay?” Hazel asks him quietly.

“I am,” Nico reassures, and he bites back the surprise at how concerned she is. He turns his head to inspect Jason Grace—and is taken aback by the look that meets him. “Something on your mind, Praetor Grace?”

There’s an intensity Jason’s gaze that alarms Nico. Jason’s eyebrows are knitted together, and the hue of his irises are different from the electrifying storm, or the serene sky. He peers down at their intertwined hands, as though it told a story.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” Jason concludes. His voice is tense and small. “Anyone like me.”

Nico rips his hand away, like retracting it from a hot stovetop, and leans into Hazel. Nico stares at Jason, panicked.

Jason startles at the sudden movement, his blue eyes shimmering with confusion.

“Nico?” Hazel asks, and the concern is present, full force now. Her grip is tight on his other arm—and he realizes she’s ready to bolt on his word.

Nico doesn’t even know what to say. The words are scattered letters in the back of his throat. He regains his composure as best he can and shakes his head. “I think we’re as far from alike as can be, son of Jupiter.”

They’re far, _far_ away from being alike. Nico is blanketed in the shadows while Jason _glows._ He emerges from darkness while Jason Grace descends from the heavens. If anything, Jason Grace is more like Percy—strong and powerful, with just a little bit of smugness as a Child of the Big Three that Nico used to consider a trait of a hero.

And if he’s like Percy at all, then that’s _worse._

Percy has an Annabeth, Jason has a Reyna, and Nico has…no one. Has to stop setting himself up for failure and getting lost in pretty eyes.

Maybe he’s wrong, but there’s a flicker of sadness in Jason’s face. Jason’s nods gently, touching a hand to the pilum strapped to his belt loop. “I suppose you’re right.”

There’s a sternness to his voice that reminds Nico of the military leader who descended from the sky. Nico doesn’t know what to make of it.

“This way,” Jason says, “to the Wolf House.”

*

The closer they get to the Wolf House, the more militant it feels. Nico feels the _fear_ and _sorrow_ of the may souls that failed to survive here—or as he’d later put it—the ghosts of many unworthy demigods who _died_ rather than conquered. Hazel is brave enough to ask about the roots of Camp Jupiter, and—despite the painfully awkward moment with Nico—Jason obliges and tells the history of New Rome and all that is has to offer. Jason continues to make fleeting glances in Nico’s direction, and Nico awkwardly stares forward.

The hairs on Nico’s arms bristle when they meet the wolves.

Jason’s gaze is even harder now—sharp and feral as the pack flocks around him. With his pristine cloak draped around him and the shining imperial gold armor, Jason looks ready to command the wolves into battle.

There’s a brief moment, where a wolf stares directly at Hazel, and her breath hitches.

“Show no fear,” Jason whispers, and his voice is surprisingly kind. “That’s the Roman way.”

“I’m not scared,” Hazel reassures. She’s reluctant, but she reaches out and touches the wolf’s head. “Just—normally animals don’t like me.”

A wolf stares Nico dead in the eye, and he shares Hazel’s sentiment. None of the wolves are scared of them.

_Gracing us with your presence, pup?_

The pack parts across the ruins of the Wolf House, and the largest wolf appears. Seven-feet tall—taller than the Golden Boy of New Rome—with rich chocolate red fur and silver eyes that glimmer hauntingly, as if daring any unintelligent man to try and kill her. In the haunting essence of the abandoned mansion, Lupa is responsible for the ghosts. Nico stares at her as she trots across the old, carpeted floor and perches only a foot away.

“Hello, Lupa.” Jason’s greeting is warm. Nico thinks that if Lupa were a cat, she’d purr.

_Two new recruits?_ Lupa’s eyes dart between Nico and Hazel. She sniffs them, and Nico knows right away that it’s different from other animals. Lupa and her pack can smell their demigod scent—the one that turns them into magnets for danger. She takes a whiff of Nico and slit eyes glow with intrigue.

“Actually,” Hazel says sadly, “only one.”

A pang of guilt hits Nico sharply in the chest. He’d explained as best as he could why he couldn’t stay at Camp Jupiter with her—but it was hard to do without giving away Camp Halfblood and _Greek_ demigods. Nico was keeping secrets from her, too, after so dutifully declaring Hazel Levesque was also his sister.

Lupa halts for a moment, her gaze glued to Nico. _What a shame. This one is followed by Victory._

Nico frowns at her scrutiny. His stomach twists in an uncomfortable knot. “My father’s been on the losing side of every war, I’m afraid.”

If wolves could smile, Nico thinks Lupa would.

“She likes to make jokes out of names,” Jason supplies helpfully.

“Ah.” Nico’s nose wrinkles. He turns and notices Jason’s hand in the air—like the son of Jupiter was going to reach out and squeeze his shoulder but decided against it at the last minute. “Grace.”

“Present.” Jason smiles back.

The wolfish gaze Lupa gives Nico is disconcerting. She inches forward, her wet snout so close that Nico can feel her breath. Lupa stares at him curiously, her scrutiny silent.

Then she growls.

Nico’s hand flies to his sword. He narrows his gaze and scowls. 

Lupa’s eyes flicker with almost a human amusement, and she tilts her head. _Quite the stare you’ve learned, little Victory. I could make it even better._

He stares back at her, puzzled. Scanning the many halls of the mansion, Nico sees wolves arising from their perch—ready to help their leader in a moment’s breath. He turns around and is met with the sight of Hazel’s hand against the wall, her expression suddenly harsh, and Praetor Jason Grace—who doesn’t budge. No hand on his pilum, no spark of electricity in his eyes. He smiles at Nico, pleased.

“I’m not—” Nico’s voice shrivels in his throat, mouth suddenly dry. He’s not _really_ a Child of Pluto. He’s not supposed to _be_ here. Nico broke the rules to gave Hazel a chance at Elysium, yet somehow he found himself in the middle of the Wolf House, with over a dozen feral eyes staring at him.

Lupa turns her head to Hazel. _You already know to protect the pack. My training is not easy, pup, but I will make you shine brighter than any diamond._

Hazel stares back at her, the sense of urgency suddenly lost at the declaration. She looks at Nico for approval, and he’s so stunned that all he can do is nod.

_Grace and Victory._ Lupa turns to Jason, and her aura is _nothing_ like the feral beast from before. _He would be good for you._

The mansion is dark enough that Nico doesn’t think anyone can see the red in his cheeks. His hand turns into a fist at the hilt of his sword, and he watches as Jason Grace’s curiosity is piqued. Those blue eyes study Nico once more, and there’s _approval_ there.

“I agree,” Praetor Grace says after a moment’s hesitation. “He’d be a good fit at Camp Jupiter.”

Unlikely. Nico snorts, his hand falling off his sword. “Forgive me, Praetor Grace, but I don’t think I made the best first impression at your camp.”

“You mean how you snuck past our sentries, disarmed one of my soldiers, and held your own against our archers?” Jason recounts, the amusement in his voice mimicking Lupa’s. “You’re right, Ambassador di Angelo. Camp Jupiter could’ve made a better impression than succumbing to your powerful might.”

Nico’s face burns now. He doesn’t know how to feel. Around the Mess Hall of Camp Halfblood, sitting alone at his own table while he watched Annabeth and Percy steal glances at each other, he could hear the whispers. The chatters, wondering when he would leave again.

The dead Roman soldiers had caused a ruckus, yet Jason was describing the story like it was an amazing feat.

It feels…nice. Makes him feel proud.

_The Romans have a saying, little Victory._ Lupa sits by Jason Grace like an animal companion, smitten by his company. _Aut vincere aut mori._

“Conquer or die,” Nico translates. He tries not to laugh, shoving that needling voice to the back of his head again. “I think I have the last party covered, Lady Lupa. I _am_ death.”

_Yes. You are Victory over Death._

Nico resists the urge to rub his temples. He used to love riddles and puzzles—but having them constantly uttered by Gods sucked the fun out of them. Instead, he takes in Hazel’s cautious look as she continues her first day among the mortal plane—and the sickening look of approval that’s on the son of Jupiter’s face. The two other demigods stand _across_ from Nico, and it’s the only proof he needs to insist that he doesn’t _belong_.

_Alas—you have to want it._ Thankfully, Lupa turns her gaze back to Praetor Grace. _The head and the heart must agree, otherwise the empire will fall. Do you understand this, pup?_

Her last words are directed at Jason. If he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t let it show. Instead, Jason bows his head in respect, his regal cloak draping over his shoulder with the swift motion. “Yes, Lupa.”

Lupa licks his face, like a mother kissing a child.

*

Hazel’s eyes are sad when Nico departs—his heart breaks, and he thinks of every moment where Bianca left and he couldn’t follow. He could _never_ follow. But Lupa’s eyes flashed with a mother’s love—something that was lost to both of them back in the 1940s—and assured them that if Hazel was worthy, she’d find her way back to Camp Jupiter. Nico knows she will be.

_Find your way back here another day, little Victory_ , Lupa said before they parted.

Nico shoved that plea to the back of his mind. Her amusement, Jason Grace’s invitation—they’re all dim compared to the countless eyes that have stared at him in the past, scared that he would unleash the horrors of Tartarus with the wave of his hand. No matter what he did, he knew campers found him creepy. Nico had to listen to the melody of campfire songs just to understand what the kids at Camp Halfblood were saying—and they assumed he was scheming.

Jason Grace and he don’t hold hands again. They look at each other when they exit the Wolf House, and then Nico burns holes at Jason’s shoelaces. He’d reeled back so quickly the first time, his pulse pounding in his ears—or maybe it was Praetor Grace’s—that it _startled_ this son of Jupiter, child of Rome—Praetor to the Twelfth Legion Armed with Lightning (Nico doesn’t think his eyes could roll any farther in the back of his head if he wanted to) and Nico knew the mistrust would come eventually.

“I’ll fly back to New Rome,” Praetor Grace—Jason Grace, Thalia Grace’s _brother_ Grace—says, his voice as awkward as Percy’s when Percy didn’t know what to _do_ with Nico. And then his voice is gentle again. “Would you like to see the sky with me?”

Nico peers up at the invitation, and only sees the sunlight gleaming against broad cheekbones and clouds reflected in blue eyes. His heart twists in his chest. A warning. Then he ducks his head. “Aren’t you afraid your father would shoot me out of the sky?”

“I’m lightning proof. Well—mostly.” Jason suddenly inspects the bare skin of his fingers, as though trying to find the trace of soot.

“You want me to rely on _mostly_?”

“Your father didn’t kill _me._ ”

“My father won’t kill you.” Nico shakes his head and wrinkles his nose. “He’ll just await you in death.”

The words evidently peak Jason’s interest again. He looks up from his callused hands (the ones Nico felt when they shadowtraveled) and he studies Nico once more. It irks Nico as much as Lupa’s growl. He resists the urge to reach for his sword.

“Something wrong?” Nico asks slowly. “Son of Jupiter?”

When he uses the title again, Jason blinks. Praetor Grace stares at him for a moment, his eyebrows shriveling together, and then he shakes his head. “Not at all. Will I see you back in New Rome?”

This time, Nico blinks. “You want me to go back there?”

“I figured you’d want to stay until Hazel comes back to camp.” Jason’s voice is as casual as it has been, and it alarms Nico more. “You looked distraught when we left.”

Nico doesn’t know why that catches him off guard. He’s caught Jason Grace staring at him more than once—sizing him up, seeing if he’s _really_ the powerful demigod that disarmed Roman soldiers and defended himself against three dozen archers—but to read his _face?_ “You were looking at me?”

To his surprise, Jason looks embarrassed. There’s a pink in his cheeks and he clears his throat. “You’re an Ambassador to Pluto. We’ll house you, make sure your stay is quaint, show you around New Rome—”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Nico responds again, and he can’t help but arch an eyebrow, amused. For how much Jason Grace stumbles, it suddenly makes sense why this son of Jupiter falters to Reyna.

“Cool.” Jason’s eyes light up and he smiles. He reaches out with a hand, beckoning Nico close—

And Nico just stares at it, the reminder of Jason’s blazing warmth suddenly tingling on the inside of his hand. It was different from Hazel’s own warmth—a touch that he hadn’t felt in years—and it scared him when Jason tried to find a story between their fingers.

“I’ll find my own way back to New Rome, Praetor Grace.” Nico bows his head so Jason can’t see the nervousness in his eyes. His hand aches to be held again, but his heart keeps warning him.

Don’t do it. Don’t mistake this niceness for anything else. _Don’t._ Jason Grace helped guide Hazel to the Wolf House and _nothing else._ Jason Grace, Thalia Grace’s _brother_ Grace—son of Jupiter, son of the King of the Gods, Praetor Grace of the Twelfth Legion Armed with Lightning, of Camp _Jupiter._

There are far more reasons why Nico’s heart shouldn’t rattle in his chest, along with the big reason.

“Oh,” Jason says, and Nico almost mistakes the tone for the same disappointment that he feels. “But you’ll come back, right?”

“I will.”

With that, the winds flank around the son of Jupiter, curling under the purple cloak like an old friend. Jason ascends into the sky, the sun gleaming against his gold armor and waves at Nico before darting south. With the winds fluttering around him, Jason Grace looks like a true hero.

Nico shakes his head vehemently at that thought as he melts into the shadows.

He doesn’t have much luck with heroes.

*

Nico holds off until the end of the day, when the moon replaces the sun, to come back to New Rome. He waits for his heart to steady and for his mind to calm—from Roman demigods shooting gold arrows at him, from Lupa calling him _Little Victory,_ from Jason Grace boldly declaring, “I’ve never met anyone like _me_ —“—so he can take in New Rome at his own pace.

He can _feel_ Hades’s blood screaming at him—the constant thought that Rome is _wrong_ and that he doesn’t belong. But then he thinks of Lupa’s words. _Quite the stare you’ve learned, little Victory. I could make it even better._

And Jason’s words, asking if he’d come back.

No one ever asks Nico to _come_ _back._ He pictures the words coming out of Percy’s mouth, but he thinks of the maelstrom in sea green eyes, when Percy thought there was betrayal. The words were as hollow as his heart when he had to watch Percy push a lock of blond hair out of Annabeth’s eyes.

And for Jason Grace—Thalia Grace’s _Brother Grace_ —and Praetor Reyna, Nico would rather not repeat the same mistake twice.

So he doesn’t want to come back to New Rome.

Except, New Rome has Hazel, and he never wants her to feel the way he did after Bianca left. Never wants Hazel to feel abandoned.

When he appears in New Rome, he makes his way to the hill amassed with temples. Legionnaires stare at him for a brief moment and then look back down. Lares don’t bat an eye at him. New Rome citizens continue on their strolls, and Nico just thinks back to Praetor Grace’s orders to leave them unharmed. His heart flutters with a hope that his mind knows it shouldn’t. Jason Grace was a hero among men—New Rome’s very own Heracles.

_Hercules_ , he corrects in his mind. If Hazel and he were going to pull this off, then he needed to think Roman. The Latin terms are already comfortable on his tongue, familiar as Italian.

He passes many shrines and temples in his search. The Jupiter Maximus Optimus is blindingly white, even in the darkness, with torches lighting the pathway for campers and civilians. Nico sees a tall blond kid waving a knife and stuffed animal around, and elects to ignore it. He wouldn’t pray to Jupiter, even if his life depended on it.

Pluto’s shrine is a black crypt carved in the side of a hilltop. Nico’s shocked that there’s a shrine to his father to begin with. Littered on the ground are broken bones of forgotten soldiers from centuries past. It’s the most recent sign of life that the shrine of Pluto has seen. Not one torch is lit, like the Romans decided death should stay hidden in the darkness.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Nico says in a quiet tone. His words meet the empty walls of the shrine and echo back in his ears. There’s no one to listen to him, other than the King of the Dead.

Nico glances overhead and shakes his head in amusement. Victory over Death.

He takes the nearest torch stick, climbs the hilltop to the Temple of Victoria, and returns to cast light against the walls. The ceilings are curtained with cobwebs. Old dust paints the wall. A thick musky scent irks Nico’s nostrils, and a statue no bigger than himself stares back at him.

“Hi, Dad,” Nico greets, his voice low. At the foot of his father’s marble robes are a withered bouquet of flowers, as though they’d died the moment they touched the dusty floor. Nico looks around his surroundings and plucks small flowers from a nearby patch of grass. It isn’t much, but he knows Hades will appreciate the gesture.

He leans into a wall, and centuries of old grime coats his sleeve. Nico groans in disgust and tosses his jacket outside of the shrine.

“What are you doing?” Jason Grace’s voice echoes against the crypt walls and meets Nico’s ears.

Nico resists the urge to coat his face in grime, too. “Praetor Grace.”

“Jason.”

“Praetor Jason?”

“Just Jason.”

When Nico lifts his gaze, he locks eyes with Jason Grace immediately. A heavy blue, like the night sky. The gold armor is gone from his person, along with the royal cloak and many medals—leaving a boy in a t-shirt, jeans, and with a smile. A handsome boy that makes Nico want to shove his face into dirt.

“Jason,” Nico greets again. He’s careful not to touch the walls as he exits the crypt and wipes his hands against his jeans. “I thought I’d get acquainted with New Rome, like you suggested.”

“You missed dinner.”

“I wasn’t aware I was invited to dinner.”

“Well, you’re invited tomorrow.” Jason’s smile widens all too politely, and Nico’s fingers twitch. “Can I get you anything?”

“How about a broom?” Nico’s ears are warm as Jason blinks owlishly, thrown off by the request. It’s a far cry from dinner and a bed. He gestures to the grimy statue of his father, his eyebrows knitting together. Nico hates that he feels self-conscious. “If Hazel is going to stay here, then I want to make sure my father can offer his protection.”

“Oh,” Jason says—and it’s the way that he says it that irritates Nico more—like he’s just _now_ noticing the unresting bones, dust, and withered flowers that make up the small crypt. All of it would still be in the darkness had Nico not climbed up the hilltop.

“I know it’s not much compared to the shiny walls and many priests of the Jupiter Optimus Maximus—”

“No! No, I understand.” There’s guilt in Jason’s voice. He takes careful steps back, strokes his chin, and then glances in Nico’s direction. “Stay here, okay?”

“Where would I—?”

Jason disappears in the sky with such _ease_ compared to Nico in the shadows. Nico had quietly retired in Cabin Thirteen’s four walls without announcing his arrival after the Wolf House to take a nap. He wonders if Jason succumbs to fatigue as much as Percy and himself do—and shoves the thought in the back of his mind.

Nico waits at least twenty minutes, and he learns the filth is so thick against the walls that he could draw pictures.

Jason has broomsticks in his hands when he returns. He climbs back up the hilltop, hauling both brooms by their stems. There’s a steep bucket in his other hand and a loaded satchel over his shoulder. His cheeks are red, coated with a light layer of sweat, and he grins through his huffs.

Nico’s stunned. “What are you—?”

“Sorry,” Jason says, and he sets the cleaning supplies gently in a patch of grass. “Didn’t know if I could make it through the air without accidentally hitting Octavian with a brillo pad. Where do you want to start?”

Nico inspects the satchel from afar. Sure enough, there are brillo pads, brushes, rubber gloves—and many other cleaning supplies.

“There’s a well just up the way,” Jason says, and he gestures to the deep bucket at his feet. “Right next to—”

“The Temple of Victoria,” Nico says, and he swallows, still surprised. “I saw. Let’s start with the walls.”

Jason grins and hands him a pair of gloves.

The shrine to Pluto is hysterically small compared to the Temple to Jupiter. Nico thinks the ceilings are eight feet tall at best, in order to have the statue of Pluto perched so perfectly in the center of the crypt. There’s hardly enough room for one person, let alone two—and Nico can practically feel the heat radiating off of Jason’s back as they start with the far back corners.

He hears the shuffle of Jason knocking cobwebs off the ceiling with one of the brooms and tries not to gag when he scrapes off caked dirt as thick as a scoop of ice cream with a knife.

“So Ambassador di Angelo—”

“Nico.”

“Nico—” There’s a way Jason says his name that’s palpable and warm. Nico tries not to think about it too hard. “Have you met your dad?”

The question is innocent enough. Nico notices that Jason stops cleaning the walls so that his answer is the only thing that reverberates between them. “I have.”

Not a sound passes across the walls. Nico watches the shadow of Jason’s arms lower the broomstick. He feels Jason’s gaze over his shoulder and sees the rigid line of the son of Jupiter’s jaw in the torchlight. “What’s he like?”

Nico hesitates. He can’t help but wonder if it’s a trap. He wipes the ice cream scoop of grime into a white towel and turns around. The statue of Pluto stares to the right of them, as though saying neither were under the King of the Dead’s eye. Not yet. “He’s persistent and stubborn. Hard to change the mind of. But—kind.”

Jason smiles. “Death is kind?”

“No, there’s a misconception. My father is the King of the Dead, but Death is—”

“Death is his lieutenant. Letus.” The Roman name is gentle on Jason’s tongue, and he looks proud of himself. “I know.”

Nico inspects his words, trying to see if Jason is making fun of him. Jason isn’t.

“Letus will bring me to the Underworld, but your father will await me in death. Is that right?” The fate of death isn’t lost on Jason. He’s not scared of it and speaks of it as casually as asking Nico to come to New Rome. Which, by Nico’s standards—is very casual. “Pluto will judge me?”

“Actually, William Shakespeare will judge you.”

Jason makes sound, his laugh echoing through the shadows.

Again, it’s not at Nico’s expense, and he feels his cheeks burn. “Have you met your father?”

As abrupt as Jason’s laugh was, it disappears under the shadows. He casts a glance in Nico’s direction again, a sort of sadness glittering in the pools of his eyes. Jason turns his head and starts with the cobwebs closest to the entrance of the crypt. “No. You’ll learn that other than statues, the gods rarely convene with their children.”

Nico knows enough that the lack of communication helped start a war. He thinks wise not to mention it.

“You’re an exception,” Jason carries on, as though the drop of sadness in his voice was no longer important. Instead, Jason redirects the subject to Nico. Again. “Pluto must be proud.”

“He—” The words dry in Nico’s throat. Being an _exception_ is the last thing he needs to be right now. If he looks up, he thinks he’ll see the statue of his father’s head turning with an arched eyebrow, asking, _What are you doing?_ Communicating with the gods is apparently _strange_ , and he’s trying his best to stay in the shadows. To remain inconspicuous.

It's just his luck that the _beacon_ of New Rome is standing in the same small tunnel, _glowing_ of all things, with the heat of the torches. And he’s Thalia’s _brother._

Jason mistakes Nico’s silence as a notion to continue. He wipes the beads of sweat off his brow, which flicker like gold, and casts a glance to the same statue. “Sorry. It must be disappointing to see such a mess out of your father’s shrine.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“That’s even worse.” The edge of Jason’s lips curl. He beats the end of the broomstick outside of the crypt, setting free a cloud of dust and ratty webs.

Nico shakes his head dismissively and turns back around. “I wouldn’t get your t-shirt in a twist. I’ve seen far more shrines _desecrated_ than abandoned like this one. I’m sure Jupiter’s temple is crowded by people in comparison, asking for the King of the God’s blessings. It’d make sense to have a higher upkeep of that one.”

“Yeah, it’s always crowded,” Jason offers, and Nico pauses again. He definitely hears it—a tired annoyance in the son of Jupiter’s voice. “Still. We’ll make sure to get this shrine cleaned up so your father can watch over you and Hazel.”

“I—just _Hazel_.”

“I would hope your father would want to protect you while you’re around, too, Nico.” Jason smiles, humored by the line Nico had drawn in the dirt when they were at the principia. He leans into his broomstick, purple sleeves wrinkled upward against the curve of his bicep. The flames cast in his eyes, turning the deep blue into a warm purple hue, and a smear of black is sprinkled of Jason’s chin.

Nico’s gaze lingers far too long. He breaks his scrutiny, the heat of the flames prickling at his cheeks, and scrapes against the wall furiously. “What is it that you said back at the principia? You and Praetor Reyna judge by merits?”

“Um. Yeah?”

“I never thanked you properly for saving Hazel and me. And you’re helping me clean this shrine for my father.” Nico pauses in his actions and stares at his grime covered hands. “Those are good deeds in my eyes. Even if Jupiter wouldn’t necessarily agree.”

Jason laughs. “If my legion can so easily fall at the mercy of one kid, then no wonder Jupiter wouldn’t show himself.”

Nico scoffs, but he can’t hide the burning of his cheeks. He _knows_ it’s not from the warmth of the fire. “You throw compliments around too easily. Did you forget the part where Reyna called Hazel and I bad omens?”

Silence meets Nico beneath the torches. He hears the clink of his knife against cinderblock and _thinks_ that he’s finally stumped this Golden Boy of New Rome.

“Well,” Jason says gently, “I wouldn’t necessarily call you _bad._ ”

Nico almost cuts himself when he stumbles with his blade.

“Besides,” Jason continues, and Nico hears the quaint scrape of the son of Jupiter’s broomstick against the floor. Forgotten bones clunk together as he ushers them aside. “It could be worse. You could be a son of Neptune. Unless you know one of those, too.”

Nico grips his knife tightly between his fingers. The mention of _that_ name thankfully squashes the rapid beating of his own heart. He wraps his fingers around his wrist, as if trying to silence his own pulse, and hopes Jason doesn’t notice his nervous breath.

Stay in the shadows. Stay inconspicuous. Pretend Dad isn’t judging. Pretend he knows what he’s doing.

“No,” Nico lies, “that’d be preposterous.”

Jason Grace—Thalia Grace’s little brother—hums with amusement.

*

An hour in, and the black walls blend with the dark corners in Nico’s eyes. His gaze blurs in front of him, and his hand suddenly slackens as it moves back and forth.

“I don’t know about you, but flying takes a lot out of me,” Jason murmurs quietly, his voice soft and gravelly. “I can’t tell what’s dirty and what’s just _black_ anymore.”

“It’s an aesthetic choice,” Nico mumbles, his own voice scratchy in his throat.

“The dirt?”

“Very funny.” Nico wipes his knife again. He hears Jason exit the crypt and turns around.

Jason stares back at him under the moonlight, a curious smile against his face. He extends a hand to Nico. “Shall I show you to the _via principalis?”_

Nico’s own hands tingle at the thought. He turns his head back to the shadows of Pluto’s crypt and shakes his head. “You’re not going to make me fly, are you?”

He looks up when he notices he doesn’t get an answer—and his met with furrowed blond eyebrows. Jason looks disappointed.

“Sorry,” Nico offers, and he curses to himself. “I just—I don’t like being touched.”

He doesn’t want Jason’s calloused hand around his own, grazing every wrinkle in his fingers, inspecting every line, and those blue eyes _staring_ at him. There’s a difference between Jason sizing him up and holding his hand—and Nico’s too wary with his heart to find out whether or not Jason Grace knows that difference, too.

“The son of Pluto stays on the ground then,” Jason declares. He gestures with his other hand down the hill. “Right this way.”

The walk is as silent as it was after Jason mentioned _Son of Neptune._ Nico doesn’t have the luxury of hiding in the shadows when the Golden Boy of Camp Jupiter is practically iridescent beside him. So he doesn’t talk. And Jason doesn’t mind. Nico realized in his musings that Jason _did_ get as tired as Percy and he did after flying, and Jason’s confirmation exasperatingly makes his heart flutter.

They bring attention to themselves as they walk—not like before. Civilians raise their hands and wave at the Son of Jupiter. Lares salute and prattle Jason, who smiles. Campers gasp and pretend not to stare—and it’s only then that Jason’s long strides become brisk.

“You’re popular,” Nico notes as they finally make it to the _via principalis._ They pass the first two houses and make it to a third.

“I’ve been here a long time,” Jason explains. A sheepish smile adorns his face.

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with the giant temple or the fact that the camp is named after your father.” Nico snorts.

“Yeah. That.” Jason’s eyes look elsewhere and he stuffs his hands in his pockets. He nods his head to one of the first houses, which has two polishes gold eagles at either side of a gate. “I’ll be over there if you need me.”

“If I need you.”

“Yeah.” Then, Jason’s smile is soft. “Good night, Nico.”

He turns around and walks away. Nico stops his heart before it can follow after.

*

Jason is already at the crypt when Nico wakes up the next day. A small cyclone carries against the caved floor, picking up dust, old bones, and dead bugs. Under the sun, Jason’s eyes are a brighter shade of blue, and his skin looks warm. He grins when Nico comes forward, then gestures at a sack on the ground. “Hungry?”

Nico looks to the paper bag and finds two chocolate donuts. “I take it I missed breakfast.”

“And lunch,” Jason muses. “I knocked on your door but didn’t get an answer.”

Ah. “Shadowtravel,” Nico says slowly. “Too much of it…makes me sleep like the dead.”

“I see.” Jason’s smile doesn’t falter. He rests his chin on top of the broomstick. “My invitation for dinner still stands.”

Nico inspects the shrine carefully. All of the cobwebs are gone, showing off the sharp corners of the crypt. It makes the shrine look even taller. The walls go back even deeper, without the heaps of bones littered across the ground. At the bottom of his father’s robes is a bouquet of poppies, freshly picked. “Don’t you have praetor stuff to do?”

“I would argue that getting in the good favor of Pluto’s Ambassador _is_ praetor stuff.”

The tips of Nico’s ears burn brightly. He steps into the crypt, noting that it’s much roomier than before. Under warm sunlight, he thinks he sees a shadow of a smile across his father’s lips. Nico swallows the lump in his throat, and it feels like a bowling ball trying to stifle his heart. “Thank you, Jason.”

He tries not to think about the way Jason’s smile widens.

Nico finishes his donut quickly and puts on a new pair of rubber gloves. He watches as Jason descends to the ground and starts scraping the grout out of tiled floors. In the daylight, Jason’s actions are easier to note—steady and careful.

If Percy were here, he’d summon the water from the wells and splash Pluto with a tidal wave.

Nico squashes the thought quickly and accidently stabs a pill bug.

“Something on your mind?” Jason looks up, puzzled.

“Yes. No.” Nico yanks the pill bug off his knife, his cheeks blazing red in the way they always do when he thinks of Percy. He tries to hide his scowl and tells his heart to _shut up._ “I was wondering when Hazel would show up.”

“Ah.” Jason pulls back from the floor. “Sometimes it’s a few days. Sometimes a few months. Maybe years.”

“ _Years?”_ Nico looks up in alarm, and he’s suddenly reminded of how quickly Bianca was ripped away from him.

Jason isn’t even fazed. “There are special cases. But Lupa liked Hazel. That’s a good thing.”

“How long did it take you?”

“I’m a special case.” The edge of Jason’s lip twitches, and suddenly his eyes are sad. It disappears as quickly as it appeared, and he’s back to scraping grout. “Don’t worry. The average is a week. Maybe two. Lupa doesn’t turn away demigods who are—”

“Demigods who are what?” Nico asks.

“Powerful.” Jason’s gaze flickers back to Nico, as intense as the moment they met. Sizing Nico up. Scrutinizing Nico, to see where they stand.

Nico’s hairs suddenly raise on the back of his neck, and his breath catches.

“I told you,” Jason continues, and there’s a smile that agrees with the intensity of his eyes. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Right. Another Child of the Big Three. Not…the other way that Nico’s heart stupidly thought they could be alike.

“I hope you stay,” Jason confesses, and Nico’s stupid heart tacks onto the words, _stupidly_. “Call me selfish, but it’d make camp a little less lonely.”

Nico’s even more confused by the sentiment. His eyebrow arches in the air. “I don’t think we passed one person last night that didn’t know your name.”

“That’s different.”

“There’s an entire Roman army that worships the ground you walk on,” Nico continues. “This camp is named after your father. The Jupiter Optimus Maximus is the largest temple on this hilltop. The Legion’s motto is literally _Armed With Lightning._ I don’t understand how—”

“It’s different,” Jason cuts Nico off before the latter demigod can continue with his rant.

After just one day with Jason Grace, Nico’s seen how the son of Jupiter is heralded as a hero among men. Children stared at Jason with stars in their eyes. Civilians shook his hands. Campers whispered about how handsome and powerful he was.

Yet when Nico mentioned it last night, Jason had gotten a sour look on his face and replied, _Yeah. That._

Nico reels back when he realizes he’s been staring too long. Jason suddenly looks uncomfortable, and Nico thinks about how quickly their acquaintance has curdled—like everyone else at Camp Halfblood once they realized he was a son of Hades. Like Percy, when Nico was ten and stupid and wouldn’t shut up about Mythomagic. Maybe Percy would’ve liked him more if he hadn’t made such a bad impression.

The first on a list of many reasons why Percy didn’t like him, including the big one. The one where Percy likes girls.

“I’m sorry,” Nico responds earnestly. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

To his relief, Jason sighs, and he still smiles at Nico. “Nothing I haven’t heard already.”

There isn’t a begrudging tone to his voice. Nico would know—he’s supposedly very good at those. Once Bianca told him that grudges were the fatal flaw of children of Hades, he tried his best to let go of his resentments. He just has a harder time letting go of his other feelings.

“Lupa seemed pretty disappointed that you weren’t joining the Legion,” Jason says casually, and the feelings of discomfort disappear, like they weren’t there at all. His voice is still effervescent and light— _curious_ about another Child of the Big Three.

Nico’s hand tightens over his blade as he focuses on the far corner of dirt wedged in the back of the crypt. “There’s a conflict of interest there.”

“Right. Because you’re an ambassador.”

“I—yes. Because of my father.” Nico can’t even imagine the look Hades would give him if he did. Nico di Angelo, son of Hades—a child of _Rome_? He barely fits in at Camp Halfblood, let alone the idea of trying to shove his way into this roman camp. Jason is the only reason why no one has stabbed him yet, or why the lares haven’t accusingly called him a graecus.

“Well, what about your mother?”

Nico pauses. “What do you mean?”

“Could your mother be a demigod? Or a legacy?” Jason asks. When he stands up, there are two dark circles on his knees where he’s been hunched over the floor. Jason looks over curiously when he realizes Nico is tense.

“There’s not—” The concept of a legacy confounds Nico. Before Camp Jupiter, the oldest demigod that Nico knew was Luke, before the son of Hermes died. Camp Halfblood preached that most demigods didn’t _make_ it to adulthood. If anything, Luke Castellan’s death is proof enough that most wouldn’t. “I didn’t know my mother long enough to find out.”

Jason stares at him sympathetically. “How old were you?”

“Young.” Nico fiddles with his skull ring in his pocket. Forces himself to stop, when he realizes there are still many bones beneath the ground yet to be unearthed. He doesn’t want to think of his mother’s death. Not when the son of the god who caused it is standing so close to him. “Anyway, that’s impossible. There’s no way my father would fall in love with—”

Nico doesn’t even know how to finish that sentence. He keeps letting his guard down. He can’t say _Roman._

“With what?” Jason thinks nothing of Nico’s hiccup. “Gods fall in love with mortals all the time. Your dad fell in love at least twice, for you and Hazel. Who says that mortal couldn’t be a demigod of some sort?”

“Because—I—” Nico looks at Pluto for guidance, reason dying in his throat. There’s no way to explain why it _couldn’t_ be possible, not without sounding suspicious. At the same time, Jason isn’t _wrong._ Hades could’ve picked any mortal.

“Plus,” Jason adds, “victory certainly wasn’t on our side yesterday when you showed up.”

Nico makes a noise. “It’s not my fault that your army couldn’t keep up with me.”

“You’re right,” Jason agrees, and the soft sound against the pavement. “I guess that’s mine.”

Nico’s brain comes to an abrupt halt. His cheeks burn as brightly as they did last night, and the sound of approval in Jason’s voice isn’t lost on his heart. He forces himself to think about the way both praetors looked at each other and how close they seem. There’s absolutely _no way_ that Nico’s willing to make that same mistake twice—and especially not with this boy in particular.

“But—make no mistake,” Jason continues, carrying on when Nico slackens. “My army is one story. I’m another.”

Looking back up, Nico sees the spark of electricity in the edges of Jason’s eyes. The corner of Jason’s lips curls into a grin—and it’s nothing but irritating to Nico. “Is that a challenge, Jason Grace?”

“No.” Jason’s lips cast into a boyish grin and he leans back into the wall—not the slightest bit disgusted by the thick grime that Nico had yet to scrape. “It’s a fact.”

Before Nico knows it, his lips contort into something akin to a smile. A smirk, maybe, and his cheek muscles tingle. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Cool,” Jason says, his voice as approving as before. The effervescence of his tone tingles in Nico’s ears like a melody. “After dinner, then.”

_After dinner._ Nico’s stature slackens and his demeanor falls.

Jason notices immediately. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Nico says quickly. He turns away to continue work on the crypt. “I—no. After dinner is good.”

He just can’t remember the last time anyone’s actually wanted to _hang out_ with him.

*

Nico thinks he has an idea of what kind of idol Jason Grace is by dinner time. Someone quiet and nice and isn’t afraid to pick up the conversation when Nico has no idea what to say. When Nico _can’t_ say anything. Talking about Jupiter makes Jason uncomfortable, and talking about Pluto is—well, the quickest way for Nico to out himself as Greek. If Jason asks a particularly hard question, Nico tells him that it’s unanswerable—for ambassador reasons. Jason insists on explaining the layout of camp and New Rome, after both of them agree that it’s a neutral territory.

“It’s good you two have each other,” Jason says at some point. “You and Hazel. Makes the whole _demigod_ thing easier, I’m sure.”

Nico tries not to think about it too much. “You never know. You could have a sister out there. Or a brother.”

Jason gets this look in his eye, wistful. “You would think, given my dad’s reputation and all.”

Nico takes careful precautions with every word that comes out of his mouth—because he knows if he just lets his thoughts roll, then _Thalia_ will slip out of his mouth, and then _Percy_ , and then _Greek Camp_ , and the word _inconspicuous_ will just laugh at him. Jason just keeps asking questions and keeps answering the ones Nico has about camp. To make sure Camp Jupiter will be good to Hazel.

The Mess Hall absolutely dumbfounds Nico. He looks around to the campers—maybe around two hundred total as they crowd the building.

“You mean I don’t have to sit alone?” Nico asks.

Jason arches an eyebrow and gestures to the many campers that Nico presumes are different cohorts. “We can eat outside if you really want to be alone.”

“No—I—don’t.” Nico’s hands furl around the plate in his hands. “And the barracks. They’re not separated by parent?”

“Ten to a building,” Jason confirms—and he’s answered that before. Twice now, because Nico couldn’t believe it the first two times.

They sit at a nearby table, with Jason rambling about all of the good perks about Camp Jupiter and New Rome—even the ones that he doesn’t think are great but are a godsend to Nico. No segregated tables at the Mess Hall. Barracks filled with other people, so Nico isn’t alone with his thoughts. Unicorns, classes, plays at the amphitheater—

“You’re still trying to recruit me,” Nico accuses.

Jason shrugs guiltlessly. “Can you blame me?”

“Yes.” Nico spins pasta around his fork. It’s never going to be as good as his mother’s, but it tastes better with company. He just wishes Hazel were here to eat with him, too.

Once people start showing up, Nico notices the oddities. People from the First and Second Cohort stop by their table, cordially greeting Jason before leaving. People from the Third Cohort glance over and giggle or mumble nervously.

The distinction is almost painfully clear—the First and Second Cohorts think they’re equals with Praetor Grace—arrogantly so—and the Third and Fourth see him as a hero. Jason is polite, shakes hands, and smiles—but it’s nothing like the smiles that he’s been giving Nico.

Then, Nico gets to meet the two centurions of the Fifth Cohort—a burly boy and a tall skinny girl. They’re the first people to plop down and nudge Jason informally.

“Your Grace,” the boy muses. “Pleasure for you to drop by from the heavens.” He burps, and Nico swears he sees a cloud of Kool-Aid come from his mouth.

This time, Jason doesn’t look uncomfortable. He flashes the same boyish grin—the one that he’d given Nico when issuing a challenge—and nudges the boy back. “Gotta land sometime, don’t I?”

Jason introduces them as Dakota and Gwendolyn. They reach out, and Nico awkwardly has to remember to shake their hands. Their palms are calloused—like Jason’s—but not nearly as rough. There’s no doubt in his mind that Jason Grace has trained for years with the pilum from the other day.

“You’re the dude with the skeletons,” Dakota says, and he grins. His teeth are stained red, like his drink. “Cool.”

Nico stares at him as though he’s grown a second head. “Those don’t scare you?”

Gwen snorts. “No more than the lares do at camp. If I have to hear Vitellius’s tale about the Argonauts _one more time—_ ”

“Or his underpants,” Dakota continues, and he slurps on his chalice. “He’s proud of those, you know.”

“At least your name isn’t Jason.” Jason drinks his Gatorade and sighs. “He’s been worse since I was promoted to praetor.”

“Was that recent?” Nico asks, his brow furrowing with confusion.

Jason’s hand brushes against the tattoo on his arm. For Nico, it’s hard not to notice. A tight smile curls against his lips and his eyebrows knit together. He opens his mouth to speak, and Dakota opens his mouth to speak.

“This guy was raised on a shield this past summer,” Dakota says, and he grins with amusement. “ _Finally_. Reyna’s been trying to get him to become praetor since she was voted in last year.”

“Voted in?” Nico’s eyebrow arches into the air, and he can’t help but feel even more confused. “I’d expect the people of New Rome would _want_ a son of Jupiter to lead their army. Why wouldn’t you win the election?”

“They do,” Dakota agrees, and Nico vaguely realizes the more Kool-Aid this guy drinks, the more hyper he appears. “It was a long time coming. But—”

“But when it came to electing a new praetor formally, Jason recommended Reyna.” Gwen rolls her eyes, like an affectionate older sister. “Can you believe it? A son of Jupiter, turning down power?”

Nico stares at the said son of Jupiter, who’s suddenly digging at ketchup with a French fry. Jason burns holes into his food, the hints of his smile fading.

“He did the Fifth Cohort proud when he slayed Krios—of course we’d raise him on a shield.” Dakota nods. “Seriously—we’ve been waiting _forever_ for this one.”

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, though his voice is quiet. “Too bad the old one had to die.”

Gwen and Dakota don’t hear that comment.

Nico thinks back to last night, when he’d pointed out how popular Jason was. The _yeah, that._ Or the discomfort in his voice when Nico mentioned his many titles and his worth at camp. It’s a list that Jason is acutely aware of himself—to the point he shrugged it off when Nico mentioned it—but now he sees the affect it’s taken with his friends mentioning it. Someone _died_ for him to get the title of praetorship—something he wholeheartedly shirked to Praetor Reyna a year before.

Nico doesn’t realize he’s staring until Jason looks back up, curious.

“Something on your mind?” Jason asks.

“Nothing,” Nico says quickly. “Nothing at all.”

Then Jason stares at him strangely, with this fond smile Nico’s noticed on his face since the day before. He scoots closer into the tables, his hand on his chalice, and expertly diverts the subject. “I think Nico and Hazel would be good for the Fifth Cohort.”

“Yeah?” Dakota asks. He sips his chalice loudly. “Done.”

Nico rolls his eyes. “I keep telling you that there’s a conflict of interest—”

“ _Two_ new recruits?” Gwen’s gaze glitters and she grins at Nico. “How many skeletons can you summon?”

“An army,” Nico says without missing a beat. “But my father’s a bad omen—”

“What’s a bad omen, really?” Dakota says, and he strokes his chin. Sticky green stains his chin, hand wet from his Kool-Aid, and his whole-body jitters. “A bad omen for the Romans means a _good_ omen for the enemies, like the Greeks—so wouldn’t good war strategy mean making our bad omen a _good_ omen?”

Nico stares.

Jason laughs quietly as Gwen pulls the bottomless chalice away from the other Fifth Cohort centurion. “He gets like this when we give him too much sugar.”

“Then why do you let him?” Nico asks.

To his surprise, all three Roman demigods laugh at his retort. The subject changes quickly again, much to Jason’s relief, and the two centurions start talking about the other legionnaires in the Fifth Cohort. Jason knows each of them by name, asking for an update for at least two dozen campers. Nico can’t keep up with the many names thrown out.

Every once in a while, Jason glances over his shoulder, that radiant blue glow in his eyes and a smile across his face—and Gwen and Dakota keep prompting Nico about his powers. Ghosts. Skeletons. Underworld—stuff that he couldn’t say because he was an ambassador.

And every time he protests—

“It’s a conflict of interest,” Nico insists again. “Pluto wouldn’t allow it.”

“Lupa said he was worthy right away.” —Jason Grace has a rebuttal.

“What’s it going to take for you to let this go?” Nico retorts—though his lips ache. It takes him a moment to realize that his mouth is sore from smiling—from Gwen’s excitement, from Dakota’s hyperactivity, and from Jason complimenting him.

From Jason smiling back at him, with those bright blue eyes glimmering under that boy scout mischief. “A yes.”

“How about a maybe?”

“No.”

Nico feels the red prickle in his cheeks and he pushes his empty plate away from him. His lips hurt, and his chest feels light as both Dakota and Gwendolyn laugh.

“Stubborn, Your Grace,” Dakota teases.

“I am my father’s son,” Jason muses. “What do you say, Nico? How about you _watch_ a War Game?”

Dakota and Gwendolyn immediately turn to Nico for his answer, matching grins.

“I’ll consider it,” Nico says finally, and Jason’s eyes light up. “Will that suffice, _your grace?”_

“Maybe.” The edges of Jason’s lips lift into the air—and there’s excitement there. Both Gwendolyn and Dakota cheer.

*

Nico forgets that he’s Greek until the end of the night.

A white cloud shimmers beside him outside the Mess Hall, while Jason is carrying on a conversation with a soldier from the Third Cohort off in the stiance. No one looks at Nico—they’re too busy blinding themselves with the Golden Boy of New Rome. Nico stares at the cloud, swallowing a lump in his throat.

His heart skips a beat. Sea green eyes start to form, and his pulse _races._

“Nico?” Jason calls, only a few yards away. He gestures in the general area of what Nico could only assume was the Coliseum, where they promised to spar. “You coming?”

Nico stands in the way of the Iris Message and just _hopes_ Jason can’t see. “Go ahead without me.”

“But—do you know where you’re going?” Jason genuinely sounds concerned, but Nico doesn’t think he can turn around and play it cool between him and the Iris Message behind him.

His hand fiddles with his skull ring, the sweat cold against the back of his neck. “I’ll find my way.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry about it, Jason.”

There’s hesitation in the silence that passes between them. Nico feels like he’s rubbing his ring into his finger until it’s raw. And then finally, Jason concedes. “Okay.”

The winds bristle around him, and the Son of Jupiter takes off in the air.

Nico sighs in relief—and then gulps as he accepts the Iris Message. “Percy.”

_“Nico?”_ Sea green eyes hit Nico full force, and he feels his palms sweat. For the first time in two weeks— _since the Battle for Olympus, since Percy’s birthday_ —Percy says his name. Acknowledges him. The vicinity around Percy is dark—Nico’s not even sure what time it is in New York right now. _“I was hoping I’d find you at Camp Halfblood._ ”

Nico’s chest tingles. “You were looking for me?”

_“Yeah. Do you think you could come here—?”_

“Yes,” Nico cuts him off, his excitement spiking. He has to watch himself as Percy stares at him in confusion and forces himself to calm down. “I mean—I’ll be there right way.”

He doesn’t know what’s bothering Percy, but he likes that Percy’s face relaxes with relief. _“Thanks, Nico. See you soon._ ”

See Percy soon. The Iris Message dissipates, taking Nico’s heart with it.

He smiles even larger than he did at dinner and melts into the shadows without a second thought.


	2. Taking a Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What sparked this?” Nico asks, and his fingers tingle with the pages.
> 
> Jason stares at him with amusement, and Nico’s heart skips a beat. “You.”

As it turns out, Mrs. O’Leary ate too many popsicles.

“Who gave her popsicles?” Nico asks as he inspects the hellhound. Mrs. O’Leary makes a loud preening sound, her stomach so large that Nico can hear the sugar make its way through her digestive tract. He tries not to stare at Percy too hard—or take note of how Percy looks in a teal button-up that brings out the color of his eyes, or how the sleeves rolled up over his tanned forearms. Tries not to stare at Percy’s hair drifts to the side, the streak of silver gleaming in his bangs.

Tries not to let his heart go crazy and do a victory lap that they’re standing this close to each other, with Percy dabbing Mrs. O’Leary with a large fluffy towel. Percy’s face scrunches in a handsome way and Nico forces himself to stroke Mrs. O’Leary’s belly soothingly.

“The Stoll Brothers,” Percy explains tiredly. “They wanted to see how many it would take to give her a brain freeze.”

“A lot.” Nico’s nose wrinkles. He can’t even wrap the wingspan of his arms around Mrs. O’Leary’s neck. “They make dog-friendly ice cream, you know.”

“Do they?” Percy’s interest piques, and it’s music to Nico’s ears. “I’ll have to buy her some when she feels better.”

“Maybe I will too,” Nico says, and he thinks about the immediate stores that he could shadowtravel to.

“Do you think you could stay with her for a little while?” Percy sounds tired, of course. It’s late at Long Island. Percy is dressed, but his hair is sticking in all sorts of directions. There’s a ruler in his hand, like he’d fallen asleep doing math homework. “It’s a school night for me.”

Oh. “Sure.” Nico tries not to show his disappointment.

“Do you…think this old girl will be better by Saturday?” Percy’s voice is shy for a moment. Nico tries not to notice the red on Percy’s cheeks, but it’s painfully obvious, even in the dark. “I was hoping Annabeth and I could go on a date. See Big Ben.”

Nico’s hand pauses at Mrs. O’Leary’s belly, his heart clenching in his chest. This was their first meeting since Percy plopped the camp bead in his hand—and again, it circles back to Annabeth. The dissatisfaction radiates through him, and Nico doesn’t even think darkness could shroud it.

“Nico,” Percy says—and the concern is for Mrs. O’Leary. Not for him. “Is Mrs. O’Leary going to be okay?”

“I’ll try my best, Percy,” Nico says finally, trying to keep his voice even.

“Thanks,” Percy says, and he sighs in relief. “You’re the only one I know who can take care of her.”

The only one. Nico’s heart flutters again and he nods. He swallows the envious lump in his throat and turns back to the son of Poseidon. “Do you need me to shadowtravel you back to your house?”

“Really?” Percy is pleasantly surprised, and he nods happily. For Nico. “Aw, that’d be _great_ , man.”

Nico forces himself not to think about it when Percy holds his hand. He knows it doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t think about how Percy smells like ocean water beside him, or how the ruler in Percy’s back pocket is so rigid that the outline is clear under Percy’s plaid shirt, and he doesn’t smile when Percy accidentally pokes himself with it.

Percy collapses onto his bed face first and snores. Nico wishes he didn’t find it so endearing.

A picture of Annabeth hangs on Percy’s nightstand, her smiling face guarding at Percy. Nico’s nauseous as he looks at it.

He shadowtravels back to Camp Halfblood, in the field near Zeus’s Fist where Mrs. O’Leary is whimpering pathetically. Nico settles his heart, reminding it for the umpteenth time that it can’t keep getting lost with Percy.

“We’ll get you all fixed up, old girl,” Nico whispers, and he stands to the tips of his toes to scratch behind Mrs. O’Leary’s ear. “For their date.”

After all, he’s the only one that can do it.

*

It takes one full evening, but Mrs. O’Leary is better by the morning. She honors Zeus’s Fist by adding to the poop pile—a sea of disgusting brown and murky colors of the rainbow (with an assortment of popsicle sticks that Nico would otherwise pick up)—and happily licks Nico from sneaker to cowlick. In that order.

“I’ve seen you eat cows whole,” Nico teases. “Usurped by ice cream? Cerberus would be disappointed.”

Mrs. O’Leary drops into a crouch and shuffles to the left and right of him—fully recovered. Nico vaguely wonders if Percy called Nico over just so he didn’t have to _deal_ with a sick Mrs. O’Leary—but reminds himself that Percy goes to school. Percy actually has a life in this century, and Camp Halfblood is secondary.

So it’s totally okay that Nico has to take care of Mrs. O’Leary. Percy trusts him to do so. Trusts him with this one vital thing. They share a pet.

Annabeth and Percy have shared more, though.

In mid-hop, as Mrs. O’Leary excitedly pivots back and forth, Nico’s face sours. The old girl hunches—and even then, she’s much taller than Nico. Her eyes light up happily, and Nico can’t help but smile. Much like the wolves, Mrs. O’Leary doesnt mind his company. She’s as happy as a mortal dog—and shows Nico every time they see each other.

Mrs. O’Leary bats him to the ground with one paw and he laughs. He’s pinned between her legs, getting bathed in happy kisses and affection for the first time in a long while.

Nico wonders if Jason would like her.

And then his thoughts come to a halt, and he lets Mrs. O’Leary lick at him like a mother doting on a puppy.

Jason, who had eyes as deep as the night sky and irises that lit up like stars. Who stared at him with fascination and took Nico’s hand like it held the story of life. His fingers tingle, aching at the memory of the calluses that rivet Jason Grace’s skin.

And that’s where Nico has to draw the line again.

“Stop, Mrs. O’Leary,” Nico whispers under his breath, when his mop of hair is soaked. She obliges with a _brraff!_ and peels backwards to her hind legs. Nico looks at the desecrated pile of rocks deemed Zeus’s Fist, and shoves wet bangs out of his face.

Jason Grace. Son of Jupiter, the god who killed his mother, and brother of Thalia Grace. Whatever friendship Jason wants to spark is just going to end when he finds out about the two camps. Praetor Reyna has two truth-seeking automatons that are ready to kill Nico the moment that he slips up.

And Nico wouldn’t be surprise if he did. He’s done stupider things for guys with pretty eyes and a smile. For guys who have a _girlfriend_ , because that’s what guys do. They have _girlfriends._ Not…boyfriends. Not Nico.

Like doting on a hellhound he (painfully) platonically owns with his stupid crush, so Percy Jackson can take Annabeth out on a date. Because it’s the first time Percy has reached out to him since the end of the war.

Nico shoves the thought out of his mind. His heart already broke once when Percy scowled at him down in the Underworld. He doesn’t think it could handle another crack.

Don’t go there, he warns his heart. Don’t be stupid again.

“I’m going to let you go now. Let Percy know you’re okay,” Nico chides lightly. He reaches up at the tips of his toes and scratches under Mrs. O’Leary’s chin. “No more popsicles, Mrs. O’Leary. Don’t make the same mistake twice, you got it?”

Mrs. O’Leary barks again, but Nico can tell she sounds disappointed.

*

Nico spends the next two days in the Underworld.

Time passes slowly as he searches Elysium again—at all of the gleaming, happy heroes who laugh like death isn’t bad at all. He squints at the brightness of the Isle of Paradise, thinking, maybe he didn’t look hard enough. Maybe he didn’t sleep enough before he looked. Maybe he mistook black hair for blond, and olive skin for pale. Maybe he should be looking for a green hat. Maybe he should be looking for silver bracelets.

The ones she was wearing when she left him.

No, he concludes after circling Elysium thrice over that afternoon, she’s not there. But he already knew that.

And he has Hazel. Nico’s _never_ going to let Hazel feel the way that he does with Bianca.

_Did_ , he corrects to himself.

*

Of course, Hazel is a taboo topic at dinner with Hades and Persephone. It’s a new thing that his father is trying: _bonding._ Because that’s just what he needs—more dead friends to fill in for the ones that he doesn’t have. Nico picks at his cereal, scraping at the bottom of his bowl until the grains pile into his spoon.

“Did you enjoy your stroll today, my son?” Hades asks. He doesn’t punctuate with _the Fields_ , or _Elysium._ It’s all strategic.

“I like the new water slide,” Nico says politely. “Just when you think you’re about to be at the end— _woosh_!—another twist. It’s terrifyingly exciting.”

“Terrifyingly exciting, you say.” Hades strokes his chin with a milky pale hand, taking his son’s counsel seriously. Nico hides a smile. “Perhaps it’d be good to install a waterslide in the Fields of Eternal Punishment as well.”

“Yes, love,” Persephone agrees affectionately, ladling another scoop of Lucky Charms into Nico’s bowl. “But with flames! Now that’s terrifying.”

“We could move it to the Fields after closing hours,” Hades says, his tone contemplative.

“Is that fair to the heroes in Elysium, father?” Nico asks. “Closing a pool?”

“Perhaps you’re right. Not having a waterslide in the Fields is punishment enough for them,” the King of the Dead agrees, and there’s pride in his voice that makes Nico flutter. “You’re a smart one, my son. A worthy ambassador.” 

Red flutters in Nico’s cheeks, and a sense of pride fills his chest. “I try my best.”

Just like the Fields of Asphodel and Elysium, Hades’s query is strategic. “I see you’ve taken to New Rome.”

Nico thinks back to the Statue of Pluto, smiling in the shadows of the crypt. “I’ve been there a few times now. It’s…different.”

Different from twenty cabins that separate campers, different from the table Nico would be sitting at by himself. Different, with a sister who is hopefully awaiting his return.

“You’ve certainly made quite the impression on that Jupiter boy,” Hades continues, and Nico’s cheeks burn. The hint of sanguine across his nose is a reminder that he’s alive in this realm of the dead. “He’s a special one.”

Nico perks at that, and he notices Hades staring directly at him. He drops his spoon into his bowl with a _clatter_ , and his face twists. “Special, how?”

“Special,” Hades continues, as though it’s obvious. “Not many demigods would take the time to scrub shrines and temples at your word. Especially a son of my brother’s, don’t you think?”

At Nico’s word. Nico’s face tingles, but he hopes it isn’t obvious under the embers. “How does that make you feel?”

Hades arches an ebony eyebrow in the air, as though daring Nico to trifle further with death. But there’s a softness in his dark eyes—because with death came mourning, sorrow, and even a wonder of what could have been. Nico’s seen the look before, when his father talked fondly of teaming up with Poseidon and Zeus. Before the power, before the titles as Kings.

“That boy is more like his father than even Jupiter realizes,” Hades admits, and he snorts derisively. “The good parts, anyway.”

Nico hides another smile. He doesn’t know why, but he _likes_ that Hades approves of Jason.

“He’ll die true to himself,” Hades concludes. “A true hero. Victory will always be with him.”

At the mention of victory, Nico looks up again, one eyebrow darting in the air. “Lupa called me that.”

Hades stares back at him, mimicking his expression.

“Little Victory,” Nico continues, and he fiddles with his skull ring on his finger nervously. “She kept trying to recruit me along with—” He stops himself, watching as Hades’s other eyebrow also arches, as if telling him to choose his words _very carefully._ “—alongside Jason. Like I was a child of Rome. She said Grace and Victory go well together.”

Persephone stifles a giggle, and the flowers in their golden centerpiece bloom just a little brighter.

“Lupa has quite the sense of humor,” Hades supplies—and that’s just what he means. _Humor._ It’s taken a while, but Nico thinks he can actually decipher when his father is telling a joke now.

“But I’m a _Greek_ demigod,” Nico continues, and his gaze narrows. “You were Hades when you met my mother.”

“I was,” Hades agrees. “You’re also your mother’s child.”

Nico stares at the King of the Dead blankly, watching the horrid souls rifle across his father’s robes. “So, Italian.”

“Italian,” Hades agrees. He and Persephone stare affectionately at each other, sharing a secret message in a way that Nico’s seen with Percy and Annabeth. With Reyna and Jason. It’s frustrating. “Maria was Italian.”

Persephone, kinder to Nico these days, waves a hand and flowers appear around Nico’s head. He thinks she does it to show her affection—which is better than being turned into a dandelion again. “Remember your roots, Nico.”

The flowers have such a strong scent that Nico’s eyes sting. Greek and Italian, he thinks. His roots.

“Camp Jupiter is good for you,” Hades concludes. “I knew it would be.”

Nico snorts derisively, mimicking his father’s sound. “Surprisingly so, as your ambassador.”

Hades smiles back, and Nico decides that, no, the King of the Dead has not become easier to decipher at all.

*

He circles back to New Rome after dinner. Nico breaks through the shadows, like a swimmer bursting through water, and is met with the dark statue of his father. He counts the days—has it been four now, since he left Hazel at the Wolf House? Four, since his first search for Bianca came up empty, and he found a new sister instead.

Nico stands parallel to the marbled statue of his father, watching the grim smile carved against his lips that betrayed the kindness in his eyes. Torchlight flickers over his father’s face, making his robes look like they’re melting into the night.

Then Nico pauses. Torch light.

Someone had lit the torches _recently_. Had _been_ there.

Nico lowers his gaze suspiciously and is met with a fresh bouquet of flowers nestled beside the pansies Jason had brought the other day.

The realization hits Nico so hard that he almost smacks himself in the face. If he looks even closer at the ground, he notices most of the grout has been scrubbed between the tiled floors. Nico looks around immediately—and trudges up and down the various hills in search for one boy in particular.

His first instinct is a straight shot towards the Jupiter Optimus Maximus.

Nico comes to a dead halt instead in front of the Temple of Juno Moneta instead.

The marble columns vaguely reminds Nico of the Hera Cabin back at Camp Halfblood—clean and pristine, as though they’ve never seen a dust mite in this century.

He doesn’t think he cares much for the statue of the Queen of the Heavens, much less the real goddess. Unlike his own father’s sculpture, there’s a way that Juno’s statue smiles at him, like the sculptor needed to get her lips right the first time, otherwise she’d be angry. A lotus staff rests across her arms, while a cape of peacock feathers drapes down her shoulders.

Juno Moneta. _The One Who Warns._

At the foot of the Queen of the Gods sits Jason, carefully studying a map. A leather notebook sits at his lap, while a mechanical pencil is perched behind his ear. He strokes his chin, brushing his index finger under his lip, and a wrinkle appears at the scar on his mouth.

“What are you doing?” Nico asks. Before he knows it, he’s in front of Jason, staring.

Jason startles immediately, and he looks upward in surprise. “I—Nico. Hi.”

His name is so light and feathery light on Jason’s tongue that a cloud casts over Nico’s brain. He looks at the golden statue of Juno Moneta, with her perfect, eerie smile, as it casts down at this son of Jupiter.

“Hi, Jason,” Nico says, but his voice is tense. He doesn’t have much luck with goddesses. Not with this one.

“I was wondering when you would show up again,” Jason says, and he gathers the map in his arms. He picks up the mechanical pencil, which had fallen when Nico appeared. Jason’s gaze flickers with concern, his irises resembling a pristine oasis under the moonlight. “I was worried when you didn’t show up at the Coliseum.”

The back of Nico’s throat dries, and he feels butterflies fluttering in the pit of his stomach. “You were worried about me?”

The corner of Jason’s lip curl into an unabashed smile. He takes his pencil and gestures to the hilltop that Nico had scaled. “I prayed that Pluto would keep you safe.”

Nico’s cheeks brush with pink. “The flowers.”

“I figured, maybe Proserpina would offer you protection too,” Jason continues, and he tucks the pencil behind his ear once more. “Wherever you went.”

Wherever Nico went—which involved dropping _everything_ the moment that Percy IM’d him. Nico had gotten lost in Percy’s voice and feeling _needed_ —and had to reel himself back in all over again, like he always did. He’d chastised his heart for doing it again—doing anything for Percy.

Not that he could explain that. Nico doubted Jason would want to hear about Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon. That would be hard to explain, too. When his mind fluttered back to this ambient… _acquaintance_ he has with Thalia’s brother, Nico’s knee-jerk reaction was to go down to the Underworld and lay low. People would forget about him eventually.

But, the flowers at the foot of the Shrine to Pluto indicate that, no, Nico has yet to be forgotten.

“I’m sorry,” Nico says finally, when he notices he’s been silent for too long. He tugs at the sleeve of his jacket. “I got called away.”

“By Pluto?”

“I saw my father, yes,” Nico responds, voice gravelly. “He appreciates that you’ve been helping me clean up his shrine.”

Jason’s eyes light up, and it vaguely reminds Nico of Mrs. O’Leary before she excitedly sprints back and forth, when Nico visits. “He does?”

“He does,” Nico confirms, though he shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re the only demigod that I know that would want to please the King of the _Dead_ , Jason Grace.”

Jason doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he laughs, holding the leather-bound book closely between his fingers. He points to the stars this time. “I could fly around the skies as much as I want, Nico, but I’m going to end up in your dad’s realm eventually. Might as well try to get in his good graces before Shakespeare judges me.”

“Good graces?”

“Good graces,” Jason reaffirms, and there’s a twinkle in his eye that makes the corner of Nico’s lip lift.

Nico’s heart suddenly feels light—and he doesn’t think about the reasons he’s been away. His chest feels warm at this Golden Boy of New Rome, with intense blue eyes sand a faint white scar at the corner of his mouth and—

And he stops that thought, looking at the too-perfect smile over Juno’s lips. Stops his heart. Warns it, again.

“Something wrong?” Jason’s face flickers with concern for Nico.

“No,” Nico says, his voice thick. He gestures vaguely to the Juno Moneta— _the one who warns_ —and tries his best not to scowl at the goddess who’s worse than misery. “Just—I wouldn’t think that a son of Jupiter would come to _Juno_ for guidance.”

“Oh,” Jason says, evidently confused. It vaguely reminds Nico of the reaction to cleaning up the Shrine to Pluto. He flips open his book, and hands it to Nico.

The handwriting is neat. At the very top of the page reads, _SYMBOLS._ Down each printed line is the name of a god, and associated symbol. Nico sees _Pluto_ and _pomegranates,_ and _Neptune_ and _horses_ —and a variety of other gods that would be considered minor in Roman mythology. Nico’s hand curls over the page. “What are you trying to do?”

“I started thinking about how many shrines and temples we have on Temple Hill, and how best we could honor those gods,” Jason explains. He gestures to the many slopes and valleys under the stars. “I’ve lived here since I was three and I’ve never thought about how other demigods must feel, when…”

He trails off.

“When what?” Nico stares at many of the other names in the book. There aren’t a lot—maybe ten or twelve at best, with a bunch of scribbles and question marks, as though Jason had spent a lot of time dwelling.

“When they see a shrine to their godly parent, and it’s not taken care of,” Jason finishes simply. He gestures across the way to the Temple of Jupiter, which is well lit like a beacon. There’s an awkwardness to his voice, which Nico doesn’t think he would have noticed without their previous interactions. “My father’s temple has been my standard, but maybe I’ve been taking that for granted.”

Nico blinks owlishly at the pages. He imagines himself sitting on a stool at his father’s feet at Mount Olympus, watching Percy make the gods swear to claim every demigod before the age of thirteen. Zeus had begrudgingly agreed and—

Here Jason is, trying to make the _mortal_ effort to make mortal demigods feel at home without a second thought.

“What sparked this?” Nico asks, and his fingers tingle with the pages.

Jason stares at him with amusement, and Nico’s heart skips a beat. “You.”

“ _Me_?”

“And Hazel,” Jason continues. “I even put some apples on Neptune’s shrine, in case we ever get one of his descendants again.”

That’s a fun thought, Nico thinks vaguely. Percy Jackson, the Greek hero, waltzing into Camp Jupiter in need of shelter. Nico’s head tingles for a moment, and he stares at Jason’s hand as it stretches out. It takes a minute for Nico to remember that he’s still holding the leather book. “You’re…not afraid of what would happen, if another descendent of Neptune showed up?”

“Jupiter had the help of all the elder gods when he slayed Saturn,” Jason explains. “And the giants and cyclops, who forged his lightning bolt. If I ever go to war again, I want my legion to feel like their parents are urging them on, too.”

Nico knows Kronos wouldn’t have been slain without the many demigods that rallied behind Percy. He’d called his own undead army to help against Kronos, but it wasn’t until after the battle was won that Zeus was willing to listen. _Immortality_ was the first prize he offered Percy. His expression was stern and cold—

Nothing like the warm smile that his son offers. The one that advised Hazel to show no fear when the situation was _Conquer or Die_. The one that skirted power and offered it to a daughter of Bellona instead.

Nico thinks back to his father’s word about this son of Jupiter. Special.

“But Juno,” Nico protests, and he gestures to the statue, who suddenly looks smug at Nico’s findings.

Again, Jason looks confused.

“She hates you?” Nico elaborates. “Because of Jupiter’s affairs?”

“Oh!” Jason’s head finally bobs, as though his brain is catching up behind his bright blue eyes. His eyebrows shrivel together and his hand brushes against the twelve thick lines on his arms. Nico doesn’t think Jason is doing it on purpose. “Juno’s the one who brought me to the Wolf House.”

Nico makes a sound of disbelief, and for some reason, Jason’s little smile grows. “ _What_?”

“I told you,” Jason responds, and he fiddles with his mechanical pencil once more. “I’m special.”

There’s a weariness in his voice that’s hard not to notice. Nico stares at this son of Jupiter, finally, with the same amount of intrigue that Jason had offered in their first meeting. He hasn’t once talked about himself since they met—only about camp and whether or not Nico’s met his godly parent before. In the conversations in between, Nico’s had to chide the son of Jupiter and remind him that he was an ambassador to Pluto. Not some lost demigod that was trying to find a home.

At every step of the way, Jason has brazenly tried to recruit Nico—with all the compliments about his skill and about his power…

Nico shakes his head. “You’re the strangest child of Jupiter that I’ve ever met.”

“Have you met more than one?”

Nico bites back a groan. A scathing one, at himself. “I’ve never met another son of Jupiter, no.”

“Oh.” There’s a disappointment that’s palpable in Jason’s voice.

It strikes a chord with Nico, and he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jackets before his nervous ticks can give him away. Like fiddling with the edges of his sleeves. Rubbing his skull ring. The words swell at the back of his throat—all in a huge bubble ready to break free from his lips. “I’ve never met anyone like you, either.”

He doesn’t like how his heart flutters when Jason raises his head, but he likes that Jason is smiling. He likes the bright iridescence of Jason’s eyes under the night sky, and the contemplative look when Nico first arrived, as the son of Jupiter sat at the foot of this Roman goddess’s temple trying to think of all of the ways he could honor the gods.

“Can I show you around New Rome this time?” Jason asks, and his lips are stretched across his cheeks. “Maybe I can make myself sound a little less strange.”

“I highly doubt it,” Nico retorts. The corner of his lip twitches, threatening a smile.

“Fine. We can be strange together.” Jason’s own lips crack into a grin and he gestures towards the outskirts of the city. “Now please come with me.”

*

Their first obstacle to New Rome is Terminus, the god of boundaries. He’s a statue of a chiseled man from the waist up, who glares vehemently at Nico’s mussy bedhead and demands that he parts with his sword. Nico resists the urge to punch the god in the face after being ridiculed for wearing _too much black_ , for having an _untucked oversized shirt_ , and _enough bags under his eyes_ that could fill the baggage claim at the San Francisco airport.

Jason tries his best not to laugh. Meanwhile, Terminus sings all of Jason’s praises—not one hair out of place in his cropped cut, shirt tucked neatly in his jeans, shoelaces double knotted. Jason doesn’t look nearly as bothered. He shirks off the gladius strapped to his belt and hands it to a little girl standing by.

“Perfect!” Terminus exclaims, and Nico tries really hard not to echo the sentiment.

They walk the winding cobblestone roads of New Rome, and Nico thinks he understands why Jason prefers an evening stroll. The lares are the only ones around, glowing in an ethereal light as they excitedly come salute the Praetor of New Rome. After the second ghost, Nico makes a gesture with his hand, and the Lar literally zips its mouth shut.

“It’s a Pluto thing,” Nico explains when Jason’s eyes widen to the size of dishes.

“Remind me to keep you around,” Jason mumbles, evidently still impressed.

Nico averts his gaze, hoping the movement would keep Jason’s prying eyes away from him. The streets are lit with lanterns, illuminating the mix of modern-day architecture with Ancient Rome. Nico sees satyrs— _fauns_ —trotting about asking for work, dryads gossiping in trees, and a sparse number of old veterans taking strolls this late in the evening.

They settle on a park that’s emptied out for the night, near a babbling fountain with a statue of Juventas in the middle, spewing into the large basin in her hands before pooling at her feet.

Then Jason tells his story. There isn’t much before his life at Camp Jupiter, which Nico thinks is sad. Nico’s still trying to wash off the effects of the River Lethe, vaguely remembering details about his own mother and childhood with Bianca in Venice. There was a life there, for Nico.

Jason has no idea who dropped him off in Sonoma Valley—just that he was born a son of Jupiter and named after Juno’s favorite hero in order to pacify her. Lupa was instructed to train Jason until he was worthy (and Nico thinks back to their first meeting, when Jason explained, _Lupa won’t mind if it’s me._ Not because Jason is a son of Jupiter, but because she thinks of Jason as a _son._ )

Four-year-old Jason Grace found his way to Camp Jupiter and took to the Fifth Cohort because they were the only ones who were willing to put up with a toddler—then they realized, when four-year-old Jason held back tears and branded with an eagle and a lightning bolt over his tiny forearm, that Jason was a son of Jupiter. _The_ prophesied son of Jupiter, who was destined to slay Krios and be a Senator to Rome. He was special.

It's different from Nico growing into his lineage as Hades’s son. Nico spent a full year wandering around behind a mad king, trying to find a way to bring his sister back to life. Nico never cared about a _Great Prophecy_ —all he wanted was to feel like he belonged again. He doesn’t belong at Camp Halfblood or to this century _—_ but Nico forces those thoughts away. Percy Jackson gave him that brief moment of solidarity when they rallied in the fight against Kronos. The moment drowned after Percy made sure Cabin Thirteen had its foundation and then ran to Annabeth.

It’s not a great upbringing. Nico knows that.

He doesn’t think being groomed into a war leader since the age of _two_ is a great upbringing, either. The Legion mused the idea of taking in a small child and then bent over backwards for Jason Grace, son of Jupiter. Suddenly Jason’s declaration of it being _different_ makes more sense to Nico.

“You have twelve stripes on your arm,” Nico notes. “I thought you said legionnaires stepped down after receiving ten.”

Instinctively, Jason’s hand brushes over the ink branded against his skin again. The corner of his lip lifts with amusement. “You were looking at me?”

Red flutters in Nico’s cheeks, but he can’t deny it. While Jason recounted his story as Praetor to the Twelfth Legion, as a Titan-slayer, there was the same, guarded sadness behind those azure blue eyes. Nico had seen it before in Percy’s gaze—an unwilling sense of duty to protect those around him. Worse off, Jason was so involved with the Legion that he was being practical and thinking about the possibility of a _second_ war.

“You piqued my interest,” Nico confesses. He keeps going before Jason can continue hovering with that look. “Why haven’t you stepped down?”

Jason smiles uncomfortably, like unleashing a sadness behind a careful fortress. “Where would I go? All of my friends are still in the Legion. If I step down, then Reyna has to find a new praetor, and if there’s another war, I…”

His voice trails off for a moment, but Jason forces himself to veer back on track.

“I don’t think I could live with myself, having to watch more of my friends die,” he admits.

Nico’s heart twists in his chest. “You’re just a _kid_ , Jason.”

Jason is bemused by that statement. “So are you, and you’re an ambassador to Pluto.”

“I don’t have the same opportunities as you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Nico’s next words gratefully stay buried at the back of his mouth, like when he told the lar to _zip it._ He thinks about all the reasons that constantly screamed in his head as to why he didn’t belong. Son of Hades. 1940s.

He swallows thickly, fiddling with his ring in spite of himself. Being Hades’s son is the only thing that feels _normal_ to him, even though it gives the campers at Halfblood a terrible fright. He was hoping finding Bianca again—another child of Hades, another person stuck in the wrong time period—would make him feel less empty.

Thinking about his sister always puts him in a bad mood. Nico burns a hole in the ground with his gaze. “I’m…bound to Pluto as his ambassador.”

“I get it,” Jason says quietly. “I’m bound by my father, too.”

A laugh flutters from Nico’s lips, glum, even for him. They couldn’t be any further from each other—the Heavens and the Underworld. Roman and Greek. They’re not even from the same time period. But their fathers’ ichor is as much their identity as it is a curse.

Jason upheaves a sigh comparable to the four wind gods. He leans back against the bench. “You’re the first person that I’ve said that aloud to.”

A tingle flutters through Nico’s chest. He looks over from the corner of his eye and can’t help but stare. There’s a charming way that Jason’s lips stretch across his lips, so lax compared to before. His eyes glitter, like a rippling pond.

“You’re different from your father,” Nico blurts out. His cheeks burn, and his heart beats sporadically in his chest. “I’ve met him.”

Jason’s eyes dart back to him, and in that moment, there’s a startling reminder that he’s tied to Thalia not only by Zeus, but by their mother, too. Even if neither Jason nor he knew who she was. Nico’s mind is a deafening siren. **_Choose your next words carefully._**

****

“Different in a good way,” Jason says slowly, “or different in a bad way?”

“A good way.” Nico sucks the inside of his cheek, insisting on staring at his shoelaces instead. “I think you remind my father of Zeus before his time as king. When he was a young god trying to rally allies to overthrow the Kronos.”

Jason makes a sound of disbelief, and Nico doesn’t realize how close in proximity they’ve gotten until Jason’s sneaker just barely grazes against his boot. “You talked to your dad about me?”

“You’re the one that’s so insistent on being good friends with the Lord of the Dead,” Nico retorts. The edge of his mouth mimics Jason’s, and he doesn’t fiddle with his ring again. He leans against the wooden bench, and his hands don’t fuss. Instead, Nico folds them together and nods conclusively. “He says you represent the good parts of his brother.”

He's not prepared for the way Jason does a full body turn, with a grin that reaches the creases of his gaze. Those blue eyes are on Nico now, looking so much like a _kid_ that Nico described him as. A kid that’s been given praise for the very first time, and Nico’s thoughts suddenly evaporate.

Then, Jason’s smile fades and he touches his temple. “Zeus, huh?”

Nico’s heart skips a beat, and panic settles in. The Greek name had rolled off his tongue so naturally that he didn’t think about it. “I—”

“That’s not very Roman of me,” Jason continues, and then he pats a hand delicately to his chest. “Lupa said my head and my heart need to agree.”

Nico stares furtively at this son of Jupiter. He curls his hands over the sleeve of his jacket, and then he shakes his head in dismay. “You already do so much for this camp. Maybe allow yourself to feel joy, Jason.”

“I _am_ enjoying myself, Nico.”

Nico freezes. The lightness returns to Jason’s voice, with Nico’s own name on the son of Jupiter’s tongue. It’s gentle and soft, like a cool breeze—and Nico’s heart swells in contrast. He peers back up, so close to Jason’s face that he can see things he couldn’t from the air. Like the specks of white at the center of Jason’s irises that glow like stars. Like the line between blond eyebrows, as though Jason Grace has spent all fifteen years of his life worrying. And based on what he’s _told_ Nico—Jason _has._

There’s a smile on Jason Grace’s face, and Nico faintly wonders if _taking someone’s breath away_ is another power of a son of Jupiter _._ Then, Jason Grace pulls back. “There could be a place for you here. Lupa wouldn’t have said so, otherwise.”

Nico pinches the bridge of his nose and shrinks in his seat. Tells his heart to shut up. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No,” Jason responds breezily. “I’m my father’s son, after all. Stubborn.”

“And I’m in disagreement with you,” Nico remarks. Then the edge of his lip lifts. “So I guess I’m mine.”

Jason laughs, and the sound reverberates so effortlessly that Nico can see the other demigod’s shoulders moving and his chest flittering. “You promised me you’d watch a War Game.”

“I said I’d consider it.”

“And I told you that answer _might_ suffice.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

Nico doesn’t answer. His face hurts from grinning—at this effortless teasing and chastising as he watches Jason relax with each pulse. He laughs off the feeling, and his jaw aches.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Jason insists.

Nico would like it too much. Like _Jason_ too much. The corners of his lips waver a fraction, and Nico is reminded how tightly bound together his hands across his lap. The back of Nico’s throat tastes bitter—and he can’t _help_ the thoughts that come to mind. Greeks. Romans. Thalia Grace’s brother. Son of the god that _killed his mother_. _A boy._

“I don’t belong here,” Nico concludes softly. Not this camp, nor this century. Not with a boy.

“Because of your father.”

“Yeah.”

“But your mother—”

“Died when I was young,” Nico cuts off sharply, and he glares in frustration at the other demigod. “You don’t _know_ me, Jason. I’m not one of your soldiers from your old cohort. My father is the _King of the Underworld_ , and his children usually meet terrible fates. For all you know, I could have been sent to kill you.”

“I don’t get that from you.”

“I— _what_?”

“Wanting to kill me,” Jason explains. He shakes his head, leaning into Nico’s space before the latter demigod can even protest. “You wouldn’t have come here asking for aid for your sister if you were here to kill me. You never once tried to kill our sentries. The lares aren’t alarmed by your presence, either and usually they’re stubborn about who they dislike. Like the Greeks.”

The last statement piques Nico’s interest. His eyebrow darts so high in the air that his forehead hurts. “I thought you told the lares to leave me alone.”

Jason stares at him strangely. “Nico, the lares don’t leave _me_ alone. The first time I actually saw a lar _listen_ to someone was when you told Gallus to _zip it._ ”

Nico’s head spins. He pushes his fingers through dark locks, his eyes widening as he runs Jason’s statement through his head again. Sure, his affinity for ghosts is notorious—he’s the _Ghost King._ But the last part, about being Greek confuses him even more. In his short time at New Rome, he’s learned two things are firm: Camp Jupiter hates descendants of Neptune and loathes the Greeks. He thinks back faintly to his last conversation he had with Persephone and Hades. Ghosts would obey him, but begrudgingly so. So _why_ haven’t the guardians of New Rome accused him of being a Graecus yet?

“I’m,” Nico starts slowly, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans, “Italian.”

Silence.

Then, Jason erupts into a full-body laughter that Nico can’t help but find endearing. He clutches at his heart, his body convulsing as he breaks into a thunderous sound that’s been confined for who knows how long. Nico’s own statement sounds so stupid on his tongue that he forgets the sudden identity crisis, and buries his face into laughter, too.

“Um,” Jason says, as he wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, “I think that was easy to figure out, Ambassador _di Angelo._ ”

“I’m glad that I _amuse you_ , Praetor Grace,” Nico retorts. He doesn’t realize he’s ribbing— _touching_ —Jason until Jason ribs him back.

Jason’s flurry of amused tears come to a lull, his voice hoarse with laughter. “You really do, Nico.”

Again, Nico’s heart flutters in his chest. He doesn’t know why, but this time he lets it. “Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m enjoying myself too.”

*

Jason insists on walking Nico back to the _via principalis_ like the other night. They keep the conversation light when Jason realizes Nico is firm about not talking about his mother. There are too many implications there that Nico doesn’t think he’s ready for—and it only adds to the list of many complications that Camp Jupiter already offers.

There’s no wariness to Jason’s intentions—even after the bold declaration that Nico could have been sent here to kill him. It reminds Nico of how insistent Jason was about joining the Romans for dinner. About _staying_ , to spar. Someone actually _wants_ his company and doesn’t just _need_ it.

There shouldn’t be anything romantic about two boys walking down cobblestone pathways, passing beautiful gardens lit by moonlight. Or how Jason charms a worker at a nearby café into giving both of them hot chocolate. Or how they’re so close, that Nico can practically feel the hairs on Jason’s arms. And if he listens, he can hear the soft heartbeat of Jason Grace, like it’s a melody in the wind.

“Take a risk,” Jason tells Nico when they reach the gate. His face is carved in the shadows of the evening, yet shines with starlight.

Nico’s heart trembles in his chest. “What kind of risk?”

“The kind that’ll make you happy,” Jason says. He smiles, and Nico’s gaze focuses on the curvature of those lips. The asymmetry of Jason’s mouth, with that little white scar.

“You’re stupid to trust me,” Nico chastises, his eyebrows shriveling together. He waits a heartbeat to see what Jason’s smarmy remark will be—but it doesn’t come.

“Maybe,” Jason admits—and the gravity of his voice holds the weight of years combatting a war. Years of training at Camp Jupiter for the end of the world. But his eyes are undeterred by Nico’s words. “But that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Red flourishes in Nico’s cheeks, and suddenly his palm has a lingering tingle, from when Jason held it at their first meeting.

“Good night, Nico,” Jason says finally, his voice steady. “I really hope I see you tomorrow.”

Nico stands at the foot of his guest house. He watches as Jason opens the gate of the praetor house and waits until Jason disappears through the door.

Then, he presses a hand to his chest—to make sure his heart is still with him and beating rapidly behind his fingers.

*

They finish cleaning up the Shrine to Pluto the first thing in the morning. Jason greets Nico at his front door with a dozen donuts, and they make the quaint stroll to Temple Hill. Nico loses count on how many times they get stopped. Many New Romans stop to shake Jason’s hand and make small talk. He obliges each time, and even stops to rescue a cat out of a tree for a little girl named Julia.

After last night, Nico realizes many of the retired legionnaires had actually _fought_ alongside four-year-old Jason Grace in the last ten or so years. He thinks back to many of the of the other campers back at the Mess Hall—the ones that were close in age to Jason, yet were working on their second or third stripe. Even their augur, Octavian, only has five compared to Jason’s twelve.

Nico makes all of the lares steer clear of them. One lar ventures in their direction, then ricochets like a pinball back to her spot as they pass the Forum. Jason gives him this look, his eyes bright and lips stretched in such a brilliant smile that Nico has to force himself to ignore it.

“This would have been done sooner, but Reyna went to visit her sister, Hylla,” Jason explains apologetically as he takes a sponge to the ground. “I made sure to replace the flowers each day, for you and Hazel.”

Nico stands on a stool, scrubbing away at the walls until they feel as smooth as his ring beneath his fingers. “I’m still amazed that you recommended her for leadership above yourself. Didn’t you say you had to be in the Legion for at least five years before being promoted to centurion? She only has three stripes on her arm.”

Jason hums in agreement, and Nico just hears the smooth shuffle of his sponge against the floor. “There are special cases. Emergency promotions—”

“Like when you were raised on a shield.”

“—like when I was raised on a shield,” Jason agrees, “but she proved her worth quickly and she’s a daughter of Bellona. Last year, with the war heading to a peak—”

He halts in his explanation, and Nico notices right away.

“With the war heading to its peak, what?” Nico asks.

Jason looks reluctant, a look of embarrassment and a little bit of shame on his face. “With the war heading to a peak, and Krios threatening Camp Jupiter, I wasn’t in the right headspace. I was scared that I wasn’t ready.”

Nico blinks. “So you recommended Reyna.”

A fond smile curls across Jason’s face and he pulls back into a seating position. “Reyna’s been through a lot. Through stuff _I_ don’t even know about. Enough before becoming a Legionnaire that her fight or flight instincts are way better than mine. We wouldn’t have won the war without her.”

Nico stifles the disappointment bubbling in his chest. He does the quick math of roman soldiers, serving a minimum of five years before praetorship, and stepping down after their tenth year. “You could have been a praetor at any time.”

Jason shrugs. “Just because I _could_ have been doesn’t mean I should just _have_ it. Other legionnaires serve their time, too. They don’t need to be usurped by some eight-year-old kid that barely knew his multiplication tables.”

“You’re humble to a fault.”

“I can multiply past twelve, too,” Jason offers, and Nico snorts.

“How long have you and Reyna been together?”

Jason audibly stops scrubbing at the floor. _“What_?”

The amount of shock is so tactile in his tone that it startles Nico, and the son of Hades accidentally drops his sponge on his shoe. Nico drops to the ground, cursing under his breath—and is met with a look of utter disbelief. Nico’s heart skips a beat in his chest, and he’s suddenly self-conscious.

“Are you not…?” Nico’s voice trails off as he watches Jason tilt his head.

“ _No,”_ Jason replies, and he chortles again, like he did the night before. “Reyna’s—she’s my best friend, but—no!”

Nico blinks owlishly and stares at the son of Jupiter. The last time he’d asked that question, Percy looked like he wanted to _kill_ him, and Nico had the disappointing confirmation that Annabeth _was_ Percy’s girlfriend later on. Red flutters in Nico’s cheeks, and he cradles the sponge carefully in his fingers.

There’s an optimistic flutter in Nico’s chest. One that’s been there since last night that he’s desperately tried to stifle.

“You’ve… _never…?”_ Nico continues, but his voice is hesitant.

Jason finally calms down long enough to flash his boyish grin. The hair at the crown of his head is in disarray from buckling over in laughter and dark splotches riddle his chest, from Jason clutching his stomach so hard.

“No, Nico.” Jason beams, and if possible, Jason’s lips stretch even further out. “Reyna’s not the one that I’m interested in.”

The sponge slips between Nico’s fingers yet again. His breath is shallow in his mouth, and suddenly, Nico’s heart pummels at his ribcage. He’s silent, as his body trembles against the ground. He can’t get a word out—not over the shaky gasps at his lips.

“Nico?” Jason asks, and he genuinely sounds concerned.

On the other hand, Nico hangs his head so low that his neck starts to hurt. He reaches out for the sponge again, and red burns across Nico’s face. It’s wet at his palm, but all he feels is the heat of Jason’s fingers from when they first touched.

“Nico,” Jason calls again, and this time he closes the gap between them.

Nico can see the outline of a hand reaching out, hovering only inches away from his field of vision.

“Nico, you’re shaking.”

There’s no way. There’s absolutely _no way._ Nico recollects his thoughts as best he can, folding his legs into a seated position and pushing the bangs out of his face.

“I’m fine,” he says finally, but his heart is still rattled in his chest. “You’re just…you’re more of an enigma than I expected.”

“An enigma?” Jason echoes, confused.

“You’re just not what I thought,” Nico confesses faintly. He can’t raise his head. If he does, Nico thinks he’ll be met with the same disappointment he saw when Percy dropped the camp bead in his hand and walked across the campfire. And if it’s not disappointment, Nico’s scared of what will meet him instead. Terrified.

Here’s this son of Jupiter, _champion of Juno_ , the youngest legionnaire to ever enlist in the Roman army, who shirked power to those he found more noble around him. Here’s Jason Grace, Thalia’s little brother, Child of _Rome_ , compared to Nico, the son of Hades. An ambassador to Pluto and child of the Underworld. Greeks feared death as much as the Romans did.

Finally, Jason decides to reach out and place a hand on Nico’s knee, shedding the worry that the son of Hades had expressed days before. “Paint a picture for me.”

And Nico does. The words come barreling out of his mouth before he can help himself—and he _knows_ part of it is from the resentment he’s felt from before, when he was excited to meet a real hero. Son of Jupiter, Praetor to the Twelfth Legion and a Senator to Rome.

But at this point, Nico knows Jason isn’t _just_ that. He’s also kind and humble and thinks constantly about the soldiers he grew up with in the barracks, and is grateful for the people he’s surrounded by, even if it’s for his title. It gives Jason more reason to _want_ to respect the other deities, who’ve sent their children to New Rome. Nico thinks that someone who has a heart as golden as Jason deserves to have a best friend—maybe two—who truly understood how good he was. And then a beautiful girlfriend, like all the legendary heroes. Maybe immortality, maybe godhood—or maybe just Elysium.

“Pluto said you die true to yourself,” Nico mutters quietly, “with Victory at your side.”

He doesn’t know how much of his ramblings makes sense, or how many of the thoughts actually make it out of his mouth. Nico knows that Jason’s hand his knee, in a neutral territory, and tingling against his leg.

He’s still too afraid to look up. Jason doesn’t speak for a while.

Then: “Does it have to be a girlfriend?”

Nico cocks his head back to Jason, and he’s surprised by what he sees. In contrast to Nico’s cold sweat and clammy hands, there’s pink against Jason’s cheeks. He peers down at Nico, with comforting blue eyes as calm as a sunny day, and a bashful smile across his face. Nico sees it again—the intensity in those eyes.

And the words echo full force in his head. Jason’s steady voice, when he studied Nico only days prior.

_I’ve never met anyone like you before. Anyone like me._

“What’s the alternative?” Nico whispers, his voice inaudible under the beating of his heart.

A horn sounds before Jason gets the chance to answer. He suddenly stands to his feet, the soft expression reluctantly melting. At first, his hand flies for the gladius outside the crypt—and the horn sounds once again. He grins so easily, compared to Nico’s own fright.

“What’s that mean?” Nico asks.

His smile is so bright that Nico’s own heart won’t calm down. “Someone’s here from the Wolf House.”

*

The rest of the day is a blur for Nico. He sees Hazel approach from the Caldecott Tunnel, her curly hair pulled back behind her, commanding attention only to her eerily gold eyes. She flashes the sentries a look from a far—a rigid stare that Nico’s seen in the mirror many times—and the guards immediately drop their weapons. No one fires.

In place of the ratty jacket and plaid dress she wore when coming out of the Fields is a royal purple shirt and jeans—no doubt a gift from the Wolf Goddess after Hazel Levesque completed her training.

She walks into camp, completely calm. No one fires—they’re too intimidated by the feral scowl at her lips, which took only five days to master. Everyone drops their weapons the moment that they pass—and a twinge at the pit of Nico’s stomach makes him realize that she’s disarming them with her powers.

Hazel sees him at the entrance of camp, standing at least two feet away from Praetor Jason Grace. Then—she breaks into a run, sprinting into a run to close the distance between them. Nico stumbles as she throws her arms around him, and his throat dries.

In place of the wolfish stare is a tiny sob. Hazel’s cheek vibrates against Nico’s neck. “I was counting the days until I’d get to see you again.”

Nico has to blink away tears. He swallows hard—and closes their hug. “So was I.”

They meet in the prinicipia after that.

Nico doesn’t realize how used to the image of Jason in the jeans and t-shirt he’s gotten until Jason is back in his golden tunic and royal cloak. The many medals adorning his chest sound like chimes, after years of service. He commands a stern, but proud look on his face as Reyna and he walk past Five Cohorts filled with two hundred demigods, all dressed in imperial gold with a pilum strapped in one beltloop and a gladius strapped to another.

_Organized_ doesn’t cover how sharp the Legion looks when they’re in formation. They look like the army that Nico summoned this past summer—but alive and well, before the bloodshed and carnage. Nico has to tilt his head to see the many soldiers aligned behind their centurions.

He can’t even think of them as anything else but an _army_ —until someone farts _._ Reyna’s voice stalls as she’s calling out names in the Third Cohort—and suddenly the principia is alive with snickers, like children.

Praetor Reyna rolls her eyes. Praetor Grace looks like he’s trying to stifle a laugh. And for some reason, he decides to look in Nico’s direction—who quickly decides to avert his gaze and dote on Hazel instead.

He watches as Hazel’s eyebrows knit with a wrinkle of worry, and the thousand questions that run through her eyes as both praetors finish rollcall. Her grip is horridly tight around Nico’s arm, like the first day, and he squeezes her hand tightly, like Bianca used to do for him when he moved his hands too much in a panic.

Hazel smiles at him gratefully, but there’s a somberness to her eyes that makes Nico sad, too. Getting out of the Underworld was the first step. Surviving the Wolf House was another, then getting into the Legion. These were just the beginning stages on the long road to get back to Elysium.

Praetor Reyna starts asking questions. Credentials? Letters? Hazel starts to grow more nervous at Nico’s side, her round face suddenly growing narrow and hard. Nico doesn’t blame her. Who would _recommend_ a Child of the Underworld for the Legion?

Before they’re too rattled, Praetor Reyna asks if anyone will stand for Hazel Levesque.

Centurion Dakota, from the Fifth Cohort, stands immediately. Before there can be whispers about the two children of Pluto, before the words _bad omen_ could be uttered.

Hazel sighs in relief, and Nico can’t help but feel proud.

*

Nico cradles Hazel by the hand, showing her all of the sights of New Rome—the beautiful pathways, the lovely hot chocolate at the café Jason and he visited, the stunning park with the fountain to Juvenitas—and so on. He takes her out to Berkeley once, in order to show her how different the twenty-first century is. Hazel immediately wants to go back through the tunnel under the refuge of New Rome and Camp Jupiter.

“Why would I want to be _around_ electronics if they attract monsters?” Hazel asked in confusion when they came back through the tunnel.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Nico agreed emphatically, when Hazel decided she preferred the mythical world over mortal. There’s a strange misery to it—being pulled out of his time period and out of Venice makes him flank harder to being a son of Hades. Bianca was the _only one_ who understood what that was like.

Until Hazel.

And of course, Nico isn’t perfect. He hates himself for slipping up—calling out the wrong sister’s name when he gets too excited and happy. That’s what it is, too—Hazel is such a relatable presence that Nico feels like he can let his guard down with her. Someone who’s been pulled out of their own time period—someone who knows what it’s like to be a child of Hades.

The sadness in her eyes breaks Nico’s heart when he accidentally calls her Bianca. It’s hard for him to get the reason why out. Hurts too much, because they both know he went down to the Underworld looking for Bianca di Angelo and he came back with Hazel Levesque instead. Nico feels the overwhelming urge to protect her—to be around for her, to be a _brother_ for her, in the way Bianca wasn’t for him—that he doesn’t think it matters how they found each other.

He holds her hand during her blackouts. Waits them out with her, lets her cry out her frustration. Nico hopes that if he shows how much he cares, then the slip up of calling her Bianca will wither away in the back of both their memories.

The campers can still be mean. They’re bullies who think they’re worthy of Praetor Grace of the Twelfth Legion’s attention, so Nico isn’t surprised. Unlike their praetor, they still see Hazel and him as bad omens—and she complains about their stupidity when they meet up late in the evenings after her combat training and classes, but she rolls her eyes and tells him that St. Agnes was worse.

If Nico could, he’d order the lares to give wedgies, but they’re ghosts. Instead, he tells them to be extra annoying to their cohorts instead.

Not the Fifth Cohort though. Hazel reassures Nico that Gwendolyn and Dakota have taken her under their wings—and unlike cohorts one through four, didn’t laugh at her when she chose a cavalry sword as her main weapon. On the night of her first War Game, Hazel explains why.

“Gladiators _used_ long swords eventually,” she says, a twinge of annoyance in her voice. “Jason said that the Legion thinks a pilum and a gladius are standard, but they adopted using a _spatha_ , too.”

Nico tries not to trip over himself at the mention of Jason’s name. He almost forgets that he’s examining the armor around Hazel’s body, readjusting straps and loosening them in the proper places. “He _would_ know that.”

This was the same boy who Nico found under the Juno Moneta, trying to figure out the best way to honor the gods.

He mistakes Hazel’s golden stare with the gleam of the armor. “Do you know him well?”

“Not really.” Nico’d taken a smooth exit from the Shrine to Pluto when the horns blared, and his gaze has been fixated on Hazel ever since. Fortunately, Praetor Grace has spent the past week busy. Part of Nico misses their conversations late in the middle of the night—but the other, sensible part of him is relieved. “Has Jason been helping you learn how to use a spatha?”

Hazel studies him carefully, and Nico vaguely thinks that it’s the double-edged sword (no pun intended) to having a sister. He could comfort her, but in return, she wanted to know him better, too. “He taught me some basic forms, yeah. But he said he was better with a gladius. He recommended that I train with this veteran that lives in New Rome. I’m supposed to meet her tomorrow.”

“So he recommended someone better?”

“He did. Why are you smiling?”

“No reason.” Nico shakes his head dismissively, effectively putting an end to the conversation, but feels his cheekbones dust with heat. “You’re going to do great, Hazel. Just think about all the things Camp Jupiter and Lupa have taught you. No blackouts on the field.”

To his surprise, Hazel kisses him on the cheek. Nico’s mind is a haze for a brief moment, but then she smiles. “No blackouts on the field. I wish you were playing, too.”

“I’m not a camper,” Nico protests. He juts a finger in the direction of a watchtower and clasps his other hand over the binoculars hanging around his neck. “I’ll be watching from afar.”

There’s a look of disappointment on Hazel’s face, but she doesn’t protest. Instead, she nods and disappears with the rest of the Fifth Cohort.

Gwen and Dakota wave a cheery _hi_ in Nico’s direction. He waves back bemusedly.

*

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Nico resists the urge to hit himself with his own pair of binoculars.

Jason flies to the top of the watchtower, his cloak billowing beneath the winds as he meets Nico’s eye. The gold on his chest gleams against the night sky, medals swaying like wind chimes. When he lands, Nico can’t help but compare him to royalty. The binoculars only magnify the curvature of his smile, and the look of kindness in his eyes.

Nico averts his gaze. From afar, he watches as the Fifth Cohort march forward, towards the First and Second. He catches sight of Hazel, who’s shorter than the rest, easily. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching from above?”

He doesn’t even need to look. Nico can _feel_ Jason smiling. From the corner of his eye, he watches as Jason flicks a finger towards small specks in the sky. Nico sees a purple cloak over Camp Jupiter’s only pegasi, followed by three war eagles.

“Reyna’s got it covered,” Jason explains, and he leaves it at that.

Nico bites the inside of his mouth. His mind immediately wanders back to the Shrine of Pluto, when Jason explained their relationship. When Jason explained that _Reyna_ wasn’t the one that he liked—

And the binoculars fumble out of his hands. Luckily, they were strapped around his neck, but he still has to grip the railing of the watchtower. Nico narrows his gaze at the Fifth Cohort and finds himself frowning as the Fourth Cohort suddenly descends upon them in an ambush. They should have seen that coming.

“So you decided to watch the War Games after all,” Jason concludes. He doesn’t leave. He hovers beside Nico, and a soft gust flutters against the son of Hades’s forearm.

Nico feels his cheeks redden. “I wanted to support Hazel.”

“You could support her on the battlefield, too.”

“Or I could stay here, content at my perch and watch her cohort in action.” Nico frowns as he watches a dozen soldiers trip over something that appears to be a trap. He’s leaning forward, his hands gripping the railing tight.

Jason laughs, and Nico hates the sound. “You look like you’re really into it.”

“Well Dakota should have considered the traps that the children of Vulcan could lay out,” Nico grumbles. He presses his binoculars to his face again and ignores how the cape flutters in his line of sight. “Or the possibility of getting ambushed by a bunch of children of Mercury, getting their weapons stolen—”

“You sound like you’ve played one of these before.”

“I haven’t,” Nico replies grouchily. “War Games like these, that is. But they should at least have a battle plan.”

“Care to provide one?”

“What do you want, Jason?” Nico snaps angrily, finally unable to keep his voice calm. He turns back to the praetor, his binoculars in his hands—and his heart skips a beat as he sees the stunned look across Jason’s face.

Nico’s heart drops. He hasn’t snapped before—but the week spending time with Hazel made him reexamine his priorities. All Nico intended to get out of Camp Jupiter was a second chance for his sister. He’s alarmed by all of the other possibilities—whatever this place may mean to his mother, accidentally revealing Camp Halfblood—and Jason. Jason alarms him the most.

But this said demigod studies Nico the same way Hazel did only moments before. “We haven’t had the chance to talk about what happened at Temple Hill.”

“What happened at Temple Hill?” Nico’s voice trembles. “Paint a picture for me.”

Jason’s eyebrows furrow together. “You looked pretty freaked out. When I…”

“When you _what_ , Jason?”

“When I was trying to tell you that I like you.”

Nico’s hands dig into the railing of the Watchtower until the joints of his fingers grow numb. His heart leaps high into his throat, and Nico has to remind himself to breathe. “ _Why?_ ”

“Why, what?”

“Why _me_?” Nico’s hands are white on the railing. He thinks that if he loosens his grip, he’ll fall over the watchtower and meet his end. If he did that, then he wouldn’t have to deal with how hard his heart is beating in his chest, or how red his cheeks burn, or how his hand tingles again at the possibility of holding Jason’s hand again.

“Because you make me laugh and you listen to me. Like, really listen.” Jason suddenly floats beneath Nico’s of sight, his bright blue eyes staring up as Nico’s head hangs down. All Nico can see is his own terrified face in the pool of Jason’s eyes. “And you’re really cute.”

Nico feels his face flourishing from his cheeks all the way down his neck. “I’m a _boy._ ”

Jason blinks at him curiously, the cloak fluttering behind him like a purple wave. “You can still be cute and a boy.”

If Nico could turn any darker than the maroon on his face, then he thinks he does. He presses a hand to his face, pushing the hair out of his eyes, and curls the other one behind his binoculars. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” Jason doesn’t argue. Despite the witty comments that have been coming out of his mouth since their first meeting, he’s nothing but sweet and gentle now. Jason flies into the watchtower, landing with a light step. The cape around him floats just briefly, then hugs him. “Are you…not okay with it? Me liking you?”

Nico tugs at the tail end of his shirt and chews on his lip.

“Did I come on too strong?” Jason asks with hesitation. “Or do you not like guys? Do you…not like me?”

Nico’s heart skips a beat in his chest. He glares at his shoelace, his pulse hammering in his chest, and his fingers trembling at his sides. He opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it. “It’s not that.”

“It’s not?”

“I’m not…”

“Not what?”

“I’m not _good for you_ , Jason,” Nico insists warily. He waves his hands around, as if trying to create a distance between himself and the other demigod, and his heart aches in his chest. He thinks back to a sword pressed against his neck, and suddenly it burns to breathe. He thinks back to who _held_ that sword—

—and the distrusting scowl beneath the sea green eyes that made his heart flutter the first time he ever saw them. He knows in his head that if he keeps this secret, then it’s going to happen again. There’s an inkling of him that thinks—maybe if Percy didn’t think Nico betrayed him, maybe it’d be _Nico’s_ hand that Percy would be holding around the campfire.

“Who says I’m good enough for _you?_ ”

Nico pauses. He looks back up and is met with a lighthearted smile in contrast to his frustrating thoughts.

“I get it,” Jason says earnestly, and he presses his back into the railing. “You’re a secretive guy, Nico. There’s stuff you can’t tell me. Ambassador stuff. I still like you.”

“Jason, that logic isn’t sound.”

“Then I’m taking a risk,” Jason says. “Seriously, Nico. I’m a big boy. Whatever you think you can’t tell me…I know what I’m getting into.”

Despite the dread that told Nico to avoid Jason this week, he can’t help the corner of his lip twitching as the son of Jupiter describes himself as a _big boy._ He shoves his hands in his pockets, pushing away the urge to reach out. His heart had been rattling in his chest, his mind howling about all the reasons why this was a bad idea.

“And if I don’t like you back?” Nico whispers fragilely. The words ache on his tongue. _Liking_ someone, like that. Liking… _Jason_ like that.

“Then like me as a friend,” Jason says gently. He contemplates his own words in front of the son of Hades, his expression soft—and Nico sees something those eyes that he missed the first day. “You’re the first person around here that I’ve been able to speak my mind to. And—you make the lares leave me alone. It’s…gratifying.”

He punctuates gratifying, like heaving the heaviest sigh in the world.

“I don’t think I’m there,” Nico confesses quietly, his voice tight in his throat. “Not where you are.”

There’s a heartbeat where Jason doesn’t talk. Two. Nico waits anxiously for some smooth, annoying remark that the son of Jupiter has been giving him every time Nico protested joining the Legion, but it doesn’t come.

“Okay,” Jason says finally, there’s just the tiniest stiffness in his voice. “Friends then.”

Nico uncurls his fists, but the numbness doesn’t disappear from his palms. He peers back up to Jason’s face—for a brief moment, he wonders if he sees a flicker of disappointment.

They interlock gazes, but Nico doesn’t get a chance to speak. He hears a shout from the Fields of Mars—and turns his head. Nico curses under his breath as he watches the Fifth Cohort quickly become overrun by the Fourth. Soldiers, gleaming in imperial gold, barrel past the Fifth Cohort with additional pilums and gladiuses in hands into the fortress. 

Nico slams his hands into the railing ferociously. “ _Why_ didn’t they place traps?”

At that moment, Jason’s laughter is music to his ears. “Sounds like you should be the one throwing orders around down there.”

“Maybe I should be,” Nico grumbles—and then he halts, realizing what comes out of his mouth. When he looks back up, he notices the smile over Jason’s face widen once again.

“I’m going to go down there and make sure no one’s been killed,” Jason says. He propels himself over the railing, the winds catching behind his cape, and waves. “Try not to fall, Nico.”

A relief flutters over Nico, drowning out the previous dread. He shuffles backwards a few steps awkwardly. “I won’t.”

He watches as Jason’s lips press into another handsome smile—and then the son of Jupiter takes off into the sky, his metals clinking against his chest and cloak fluttering behind him.

When Jason is out of sight, Nico presses a hand against his chest. Each beat is met with an ache, and he swallows hard in his chest.

_Take a risk._ The kind that would make him happy. The kind that involved a Roman demigod, son of Jupiter, and _Thalia Grace’s_ little brother of all people.

_Try not to fall._

Nico presses his forehead against the cold railing and sighs.

Too late.

**Author's Note:**

> [Loosely based off this idea!](https://ariihen.tumblr.com/post/616352377616957440/imagine-the-di-angelos-being-legacies-of-victoria) The title is based off Rewrite the Stars from The Greatest Showman (Formally When the Wind Changes) Hope you guys enjoyed it so far, and as always, stay safe!


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